Jonathan, eyes furrowed, glides pen across paper. Chocolate syrup, swirled by brownie crumbs, coats two plates. A female monk, shaved head, red robes, slurps soup and asks for chilly sauce. A silent couple, buried beneath wool scarves, eats from Thali bowls. A tourist, reading, sips his tea, eyes never leaving the page. Indian beggar women, clinging to children like blankets against the cold, work outside. Dance music, in a language I can't understand, plays over the speakers. A French guy, leaning over carrot cake, discusses Obama with a Tibetan. The waiter, black Free Tibet sweater, closes the door against the draft. A monk, red fishing cap, pays, opens it again, and leaves.
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