Michael walked through the building's front door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The afternoon breeze blew gently, and he started his walk with firm, steady steps, keeping a measured pace. Without rushing, he crossed avenues and blocks, covering the few kilometers that separated him from his destination while watching the city's routine movement.
After a long walk, he finally turned the corner and entered _Donivoa Street, No. 69_.
The street was quiet, strictly residential, except for the façade of one of the houses a few meters down. Michael spotted the small makeshift restaurant on the porch and kept walking toward it until he reached the small service area.
The space was small and peaceful. There were few people: only five adults and one child, all clearly members of the same family. Michael chose an isolated table, in the farthest corner from the group. On the other side of the porch, an elderly lady was serving customers huge burgers — stuffed with three meats, four kinds of cheese, tomato, lettuce, and pickles between the buns.
Noticing the new customer, the lady looked at Michael and gave him a warm, slight smile. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to him.
— Good afternoon! I've never seen you around here — she greeted him kindly.
— I'm not from the area — Michael replied, keeping his voice calm and his tone courteous.
— Nice to meet you, my name is Cleusa.
— Michael — he introduced himself briefly.
— And what would you like today, Michael? — Cleusa asked, being helpful.
— Just a tea, please.
Cleusa smiled warmly and nodded.
— I'll bring it right away. Just wait a few minutes.
She turned to go get the order, but at that exact moment a noise at the table next to them caught their attention. The little boy from the family had bumped the glass, spilling orange juice all over the table. The child started to cry, but his parents quickly comforted him with affection, promising they'd order another juice right away. The boy calmed down, wiped his tears, and broke into a spontaneous smile.
Michael just watched the scene in silence. When he noticed Michael looking, the little boy smiled at him. Michael answered with a slight, discreet half-smile before looking away.
A little later, Cleusa returned to the table carrying a steaming cup and handed it to Michael. The family took the opportunity and asked her for one more orange juice for their son.
— Coming right up, dear — Cleusa said, smiling sweetly at the boy before heading toward the house door.
But before she went in, the child's father looked at his watch and sighed, telling the family they had to leave immediately because his boss had just called him. He promised his son he'd buy him the juice on the way home. The man took some bills from his pocket, left the money on the table, and called out to Cleusa to let her know they were leaving.
— Oh, what a shame! But go with God, see you next time! — the lady said goodbye, waving.
With the family's departure, the place became completely empty. Cleusa turned to Michael's table once more.
— I'll be inside, okay? If you need anything else, just call me.
Michael only gave a slight nod in agreement. Cleusa turned and went inside the house.
Michael stared at the cup of tea on the table. The steam rose slowly, but he didn't bring the drink to his lips — he didn't take a single sip. Instead, he stood up in silence, walked to Cleusa's front door, and stepped inside.