The courtyard was deserted before breakfast, so I was doing my morning stretches there as there was insufficient floor space in our room. Flat on my back, legs locked and twisted in bizarre fashion, my quiet time was interrupted when I became aware of feet straddling my ears.
“Can I get some coffee?” an American accent demanded, her bellow echoing off the glass walls.
“Breakfast is served at eight.” I responded in low voice.
“Can I get some coffee?” she repeated, her face now leaning over into my roof-ward view. Did she think I worked here?
“Breakfast is served at eight.” I repeated, slightly louder.
She came to her knees her face now inches above mine. “What? What’s on the plate?”
Deaf as a doornail, I thought. “Breakfast is served at eight.” I repeated, now loud enough to wake our slumbering fellow guests.
“Oh.” she acknowledged, her face contorted in disappointment, lip curled. She stomped off into a room, slamming the door behind her. I heard her snarl “He won’t serve us until eight.” at some unfortunate companion. Sheesh. And I thought I was bad before morning coffee.
Continue reading 05. A Breath of Fresh Air