Hip in Madrid

I slept all through breakfast and then started running around Madrid’s Literary Quarter, bleary-eyed and barely awake, in search for coffee.

In my confusion, I ended up at some hipster cafe where every sign is in English, patrons are glued to devices and coffee is expensive and fussy.

“What kind of milk?” the barista asked severely. “What do you mean by ‘the normal’? Like, from a cow? Just plain milk? You are sure?”

To compensate for my old-fashioned milk taste, I whipped out my device started writing this post.