Hipster dude in the Serb form still gettin' acclimatised. Nothing there whatever objectionable: white collared shirt untucked, stubble, piercings & pictures unapparent. Granola was good, tasty, the Greek yoghurt possibly free range moos, sheep & goats; maybe not on a hillock overlooking the waters of the Aegean opp Santorini. No fuss. Yes sir, No sir. You cannot avoid the straw in the latte anywhere in these parts. After Singapore the messy little garden in front was a treat. But the dribble. Wasn't booming exactly; moderate. Golden oldie classic rock baby love need you honey yeah. 3-4-5 with the crunchy gran and fangs in desperate need of attention. Baby love me sweet… Lightest drops en route meant the free table just on the edge of the awning, prints, pots, parley outta harm’s way. For the latte following though, we'll take it at the garden table, ta. When you don't have gusle, I'll mosey off there... The stubbled chin pointed one way. Reflexively pointed the other. Upraised & down. Fixed upon it the eyes escaped.
For those of you unacquainted:
https://youtu.be/oqTFNytdGFk?feature=shared
Rough transl of the title here without resorting to G —
Don't honey give to another
That which my hand has... smothered
NB. The older epic heroic cycles ala blind Homer were definitely a mark above.
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