In the cosy alleyside room in back of the main kitchen Harmi's granddaughter drags from a corner the fat log with a big L-shaped notch cut into it. The noise stops with it's perfect positioning in front of tea sink. She crosses to the stove and reaches for the tall hinged handle that sits perfectly centred somehow above the lid. There's no clatter at all as she lifts the empty kettle and skips a few steps with it then mounts the log step stool. When the kettle is filled to the top of calcium deposits she closes the tap and makes her way back silently down the stool, struggling with the load until it is back on the stove. Silence in the café always means tea.
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