Enjoy this short story by Richard Ankers. No photo needed as he describes the place.
Empty coffee mugs litter the tables, tidemarks of brown sludge marking their once fullness. Someone plays flamenco music through a poor quality speaker; it lacks the passion of a real performance. A lone girl stands behind the counter tapping her toes, her fingers out of sync on the desktop. She patiently awaits my order with a forced smile. I ask for my usual, ever the rebel. I could sit anywhere, the shop vacated, but choose my always seat. I am not here to experiment, I’m here because I’m home. The Venetian lagoon strapped to my cocoa-coloured view hints at far away places. I’m content to drink and imagine them.