The pompous male customer sat in his favourite booth as he sipped at a coffee. He sat in the same booth each time he entered the Yongen-Jaya retreat hidden within the nooks of the back alleys, near the rear of the cafe where he could drink in solitude. It was not as if there was much rambunctiousness near the front of the store, as in actuality the place was often quiet enough for one to hear the sound of a pin dropping on the floor above, but the customer enjoyed this spot nonetheless. A hidden retreat away from the cacophony of the world yonder; he'd grown rather accustomed to the place. He leaned his head forward, taking a lengthy sniff of the elixir. The scent of the aromatic beverage piqued his nostrils. It was a pungent smell, but by no means unpleasant. Instead, he noted the fruity scent meshing with a perky acidity, which caused him to reminisce about sitting beneath a temperate sun upon a warm summer's day; Sojiro surely could brew a masterful concoction.
The owner of the coffee shop, a man named Sojiro, watched him from afar. Not perversely, but rather with a certain sense of intrigue as he remained seated, savouring the experience of dining within the otherwise derelict cafe. He wore a pastel pink broadsheet shirt and a striped apron, the same attire which had notably almost become a staple of his appearance. In fact, the customer noted that he had scarcely seen him without that attire, and most certainly never in anything other than the pink shirt. It had become a staple of his appearance, along with his contoured face and slicked-back hair, as well as a protruding goatee which appeared menacing to even the finest of beard-savants.
A young boy walked down the stairs. The boy did not approach him, and so the two of them did not speak. Instead, he wandered on with a determined stoicism as he headed toward school. The boy left, and as he did, the pretentious customer spoke to Sojiro.
"They do grow up so fast," the customer said. "He does look like a young man, one similar to myself who enjoys the finer things in life. Is he yours?"
"He's a friend's kid," Sojiro replied. "He's enrolled in Shujin."
"Oh, well he looks like a particularly refined young man, like myself," the customer implied. "I wonder what cruel circumstances wrought upon him could lead a boy of his impressionable young age cooped up in an attic?"
"Family reasons," Sojiro said forcefully.
"Well, it is none of my business anyway, I suppose," the customer said as he took another sip from his coffee. "Say, how's business been as of late?"
"Same as usual, I suppose," Sojiro said.
"Well then, I'll operate on the assumption that business is scarce then," the customer replied. "Rather disappointing; you do brew a rather fine cup."
"Thanks," Sojiro said, offhandedly dismissing the compliment. He knew they were ingenuine, like everything about the customer before him. Even the worn scarf and the greyed brown fleece jumper he wore somehow seemed to exude a vibe of pretentiousness, as if somehow his arrogance itself had seeped into the fibres. He had a neat hairstyle that was a picture perfect replication of something he had seen in a men's fashion magazine, and a chinstrap beard which belonged to an era now past, where it remained for good reason.
"You know, I do enjoy this little warren - a home away from home, one might say," the customer continued. "I do feel as if the ambience of this place lends, it is a place where true intellect can find residence."
Sojiro sighed. He knew that he was insinuating that he himself was a true intellect, and while he would've loved to make a snarky retort, he decided to withhold unless pushed. After all, there was no point in throwing fat onto a naked flame just yet, as the man before him was his only paying customer for the day. Instead, he remained silent, slaving away in the kitchen at a cup of coffee for himself - he could use the distraction.
"Say, do you mind if I get some of that Leblanc Signature Curry?" The customer asked. "I wouldn't mind a hearty meal to compliment the beverage."
"One signature curry, coming right up," Sojiro said. He smiled a little as he whipped up the curry. The arrogant man occupying the booth would probably have a fit, should he learn that the curry he praised for its familial feel was actually designed by a scientist based on formula and experimentation. The situation of revelation playing out in his head made him chuckle a little. The customer sat, oblivious to Sojiro's contemptuous thoughts. The curry arrived, as pristine as always. Sojiro, though he didn't seem it, was a perfectionist at heart. He likely couldn't tolerate the thought of an curry blemished with imperfection ever emerging from his kitchen. Sojiro emerged from the kitchen, placing the curry before the customer. The customer took a whiff of the piquant scent.
"Fine as ever," the customer said. "With such pristine cuisine, one must wonder what it is that keeps the customers at bay here."
"Probably where we're hidden," Sojiro replied.
"Well, I'm not complaining," the customer stated. "A place with such commendable atmosphere truly is masterful, and I would most certainly be reluctant to give up this booth to someone unappreciative of the aesthetic and atmosphere here."
"A paying customer's a paying customer," Sojiro said.
"Hmph, not in my books," the customer replied. "The short-lived joy of monetary compensation is simply imitation for the true fulfillment one can find in erudite appreciation."
"In Japanese, please?" Sojiro asked, mocking his haughty vernacular and expressing his own confusion about the point he was attempting to make.
"I mean that most sincerely," the customer continued, ignoring Sojiro's obvious confusion and perhaps even relishing it. "One must be a seeker of truth. Wisdom can take you places that wealth can only dream of, just look at myself for example."
Sojiro looked at the man occupying the booth. If anything, the man in the booth seemed to be a poster-child for the inverse of his own mantra, that wealth truly beat wisdom. His slightly corpulent figure and condescendingly 'humble' attire were off-putting, he seemed to lack any colleagues with which to engage, and he wandered into the emptiest cafe on the street merely to strike up conversation with a barista who could scarcely even tolerate him. He almost pitied the man for a second. The man drank the remainder of the cup of joe, and devoured the curry with lightning speed.
"Well, at any rate I must get going," the customer said. He dropped the money for his meal on the table. "Thanks for the meal."
"Any time," Sojiro replied.
The customer departed. Whatever it was his mind was valued for beyond the walls of this cafe, he did not know. He had not asked the man about his employment arrangements, for he was not particularly intrigued by the man. He wondered where all his friends were? He thought that surely he would have a work colleague that he could be spending some time with, or perhaps a special someone in his life, but then remembered who he was talking about. He was but another face, a pretentious and forgettable individual who occasionally strutted into this place to escape the dejected quietude of his own life for a while, a face which coalesced into the backdrop. Sojiro wandered over, and grabbed the sordid crockery which had contained the man's meal and drink only a few moments prior, rinsing the stains from the china as he prepared them for the next customers. It was a cyclic endeavour, repeating indefinitely; one to which he had become quite accustomed.
He wondered to himself what the kid was doing.
Staying out of trouble, he hoped.