Breakfast in Maghreb

All around him the city was buzzing with energy. The streets were alive with pedestrians, walking about, beginning their days - opening their shops, making their way to work. He could already hear the parade of cars and taxis flowing down below, their mufflers coughing, horns beeping, the occasional yell from a passing driver. Somewhere from deep within the market he could smell the restaurants beginning to prepare their meals. The numerous spice nodes riding by his nostrils on the breeze. Turmeric, saffron, paprika, cumin, and cinnamon. All tickling the back of his throat.

He was surprised by all the activity. Before him sat his freshly delivered breakfast. It couldn't have been in front of him for any longer than ten minutes. He felt late to the party. His eyes were still dry, trying to get used to the contacts he had put in shortly before leaving the room. His skin was still moist from the shower, only managing to get colder with each gust of wind - sending shivers down his spine. When he tried to speak, he didn't recognize his own voice. It was horse. Still not fully awake. It wasn't just his mind that felt groggy - but his whole body. He had never been a quick riser, but the pulse of this city made him hyper aware of it.

With each sip of his coffee, he willed his mind to come out of the fog. The sun was shining. The day had begun. It was time to go out and adventure. And slowly but surely, he could feel the caffeine working its way into his system. Finding where it needed to go and grabbing hold. Shaking him back to conciseness.

When he first had stepped out onto the patio, he was unsure what to expect for breakfast. Surprised by the bounty of bread and spreads that were presented to him. Jams and marmalades of all kinds. Spiced apple, pear, orange, rasberry. Accompanied by fresh churned butter and the sweetest honey he had ever tasted. Each bite he took juxtaposed the coffee in his mug. The sweetness of the fruits and honey battling the darkly roasted beans over control of his taste buds.

The more he ate, the more alive he felt. The sugar mixed with the caffeine already in his veins, lifting his spirits. His stomach greatly appreciated the bread - having been empty since lunch the prior day. By the end of it all, there was just one slice left, perfectly smeared with the last bit of butter and topped with the remaining honey. Just sitting there, looking up at him. Tempting him. Taunting him.

But before he could commit to it, she walked out. Hair falling over her shoulders, still slightly damp from the shower, sunglasses holding it back from her face. Her smile was radiant. Only adding to the already bright morning. He was always taken by how wonderful she looked at any hour of the day. Peering down at himself, he couldn't help but laugh. Disheveled as ever. Yet it didn't matter. Neither did the bread sitting before him, waiting to be eaten.

As she walked towards him all he wanted to do was get up, grab her hand and find their way out onto the street. Waste no time. They had to begin the day's adventures.