It's late and this place is showing no signs of shutting down. There's Latin dance music pumping, and the place is relatively crowded with people. It's too late to take the metro home, but there is a line of taxis conveniently waiting next to the café. Coincidence? I think not.

The two guys sitting near me keep accosting me for different reasons. Do I have a lighter? Or a newspaper with information about the economy? Meanwhile, I'm dozing off even as I set out the money for my espresso. Suddenly I realize the waiter is standing there. "Thirty more cents," he says.

The powdered sugar tube is in color and very cheaply printed, as if with a low resolution dot matrix printer. The ashtray is Heineken. The table is round with a granite-looking top, not too small. I'm sitting on a brown vinyl couch and all around me are wicker chairs, the plastic white and maroon caning on the chairs forms interlocking diamond patterns.