Huguel , in his early thirties, sat on a bench outside the café, drinking black coffee and watching the pedestrians walk by with an annoyed expression plastered over his face. He had been waiting outside since before eight, when the café opened for its customers. His coffee was cold but he wasn't going to risk getting it wet if he left the shop now, even though he could always order more when he came back. He liked the fresh coffee here, despite his disdain for everything else that came out of this damn place. Even the food tasted too good. There was nothing better than fresh bread in his opinion.
It wasn't even noon yet and he already wanted to leave. The sun shone brightly through the trees in the park, making it seem like the sky was full of stars. It was hot, humid, and his shirt stuck uncomfortably to his skin. The humidity made him sweat and his hair felt sticky against his scalp. He didn't have time to take a shower, especially considering how long it would take him to reach home again and then return after a shower. That was another reason why he didn't come to the cafe every morning like he did during summer vacation. This one had a pool and all the other members of the Jacare Sul favela were there, so they took advantage of the water when they woke up. So yeah, maybe sometimes the guy did need a little help, but that never stopped anyone from being there. If anything, Hugo loved the lazy, happy atmosphere the place created.
He checked his watch, noticing that it showed 9:03. The barista who worked behind the counter was late today but Hugo didn't mind. Most times the barista was late anyways, so it wouldn't make much difference. In fact, Hugo found it nice that the barista was working on her break. She had been working at the café for six years now and she deserved some rest.
The man sitting beside him was watching the same thing he was. "She's probably having a great day," the young man said, sipping from a thermos filled with coffee. "Her husband must be a lucky bastard."
"Yeah," Hugo replied absently, taking another sip from his own mug. He couldn't stop thinking about what the man had just said. Her husband must be a lucky bastard? Was that really what people thought about their partners? Did they think that when they got together their spouses would just magically become rich and famous and everything would go smoothly? Well, he supposed it was possible to think like that, but he wouldn't know. No, most people never even met their spouse. And no matter how much the woman told them about what her husband looked like or talked about him (which was practically everyday)