apologies to mad cat lady

I'm on my way somewhere and walking up park st. It's a little after
nine. I decide I'm early so I stop at a fancy looking Italian
restaurant/caffé. Looks like no benny so I order scrambled eggs. The
cashier has a thick, presumably Italian accent and needs help with the
register. I get my number (17) and sit under the giant Eiffel tower.
That's right, hadn't noticed it coming in, but there you go. Either
someone is confused or this was once a French restaurant. I make a
phone call then my eggs come. There's no chorizo like it said on the
menu, the tomato isn't the best, but the eggs are good and the bread
is good too, I guess it's toasted sour dough. The new guy takes my
number before any coffee arrives, which worries me enough that I
mention my coffee to him. But it arrived shortly after and all was
well. A couple are silently reading the papers. I can see bushfire
photo spreads. The cars really get me. Fuck. Time to go. The roman
statues holding lights strike me as ridiculous. The music sounds like
Italian Idol. Really time to go.