The coffee pot waited excitedly.
A red Bialetti.
As soon as it was placed on the stove, it gave a small shiver, pleased.
The television sang new, psychedelic songs to the still sleepy eyes of the sofa, which seemed unwilling to listen.
As the coffee rose, it made the first sound of the day.
A groan.
A long sigh.
Then the aroma.
On the walls.
Across the carpet.
Up the stairs.
Clinging to the banisters.
Seated in the familiar posture of meditation, the Buddha statue watched the room with a faint smile.
Keeping him company was a plump statue of Hotei, his generous belly worn with pride.
There, the smile had already become laughter.
Fat, in every sense of the word.
It was just after 4:30 on a very ordinary morning.
Soon the windows would open their eyes.
Riccardo 