You were his wife in the 40's through thick and thin, sickness and health, richer or poorer, and through all of the twists of life. Even 70 years later you continued to love him, and stay by his side.
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119 Macdougal St, there sat Caffe Reggio, an iconic landmark known well to Greenwich Village. The cafe boasting about it's original Cappuccino, as well as an espresso machine from 1902, that stood against the back wall. The modern version of the machine behind the counter on constant use. It's pressurized steam-driven system whistling chaotically non-stop all day, loud enough to ring in your ears the second you step in through the door.
Two friends sat outside, occupying one of the bistro sets beneath the coffeehouses brightly shaded green overhang, chatting like old times. The quaint, homey atmosphere of days spent at this establishment a fond memory. And, even though the price of coffee had risen, and the cafe had received a few new upgrades, and there was a new coat of paint on the walls it still was a welcoming treat.
The feeling of old times a cherished, rare thing nowadays...
"So, a beard, huh?" I promptly brought up, not being able to ignore the elephant in the room while I sat across from my dear friend.
"That bad?"
"No, it's just... It's different," I clarified, the warm spring air drifting through the paved block, rustling the green leaves of the scant amount of trees that dotted up out of the concrete every few feet.
"See, when I look at you all I see is pre-serum you, and pre-serum you definitely couldn't pull that off." I continued to illustrate, concentrating on the light brown shaded bristle that now resided on his chin.
"Bucky has a beard." Steve fended, trying to gain my approval in this matter.
"Well yes, but, he can pull it off." I sanctioned right before a waiter came out to gift us our order, his hands full with a set of two piping hot coffees; steam barreling out of the mugs.
Instinctively, the Captain averted his eyes away from the employee, his blue hued gaze instead seeking fascination at the gray cement road. Garbage, potholes, and all... It was more appetizing than turning to face someone who might recognize him, and inevitably call the cops on the "wanted criminal".
"Two plain coffees, right?" Our server double-checked, his apron stained with espresso and fresh cream.
"Yes, thank you." I answered, paying more attention to my mute, uninterested blonde friend than to the man who was waiting on us.
"You sure I can't interest you in something more, I don't know, elaborate? You should see our menu, we've got some tastier coffee options..." The waiter brought to light, taking a quick glance over at the special's board that greeted each customer before they went inside. The chalk written advertisement flaunting some sweet new coffee combo that I was frankly too old for, literally.
"No, thanks though. I like just old fashioned black coffee." I graciously declined, and with that the server skedaddled back on inside while I continued to stare at my friend.
