I made a poppyseed roll today, like the ones I used to get from the Bäckerei around the corner from my flat in Berlin. The woman behind the counter wore a square cap that tied in the back and a matching apron and wouldn't give me my baked goods until I'd pronounced their names to her satisfaction.
There was one tray-sized table with aluminium chairs and a couple in their eighties would come down every morning and drink coffee and eat horseshoe-shaped almond pastries. She had perfectly braided silver hair and smelled very faintly of aniseed. They didn't talk, but they didn't read the papers either. They sat together and ate their pastries and drank their coffee like it was holding hands.