Coffee at a station

[lloydwood]

It's 1995, and a callow young man from the north of England is waiting at Waterloo International for the Eurostar, clutching his shiny new ticket and passport with some trepidation. He's early, and he can't afford to be late. He plans to buy another ticket to Toulouse once he gets to Paris, somehow; he hasn't quite figured that out.

There's a coffee shop on the platform; eventually he pays for something called a cappuccino, which sounds European, lowers his luggage, and takes a seat. The drink that arrives is unlike the mugs of instant coffee he's known. The cup has a large bowl and saucer, it's milky, textured - wait, chocolate?

In Toulouse he'll befriend students from many different countries, learn to drink and make espresso shots, to swear in the French he still can't speak. But his horizons are yet to broaden. He hears the boarding call, wipes the foam and chocolate from his lip, and rises. The train is ready; he must be, too.