If I know of any cafeteria, it is the cafeteria of the Unidad Médico Docente Las Garzas, called Artes y guarapos. For those who do not speak Spanish and do not belong to the Latin American culture, it may be necessary to explain this name: the word arts in plural has two immediate meanings. One refers to the arts as the manifestations of aesthetic sensibility, such as painting, music, or theater. The other refers to the occult arts,that is, to sorcery, which usually uses concoctions. In the Venezuelan context,the word guarapo, besides referring to a concoction that can perfectly be an infusion of plants that is taken for taste or for medicinal purposes, can also be a magical concoction. But, very important for the purpose of this post, in Venezuela a guarapo is also a clear brewed coffee which is also known as guayoyo, and it is one of the most consumed coffees in Venezuela apart from the negrito cerrero. The name of this coffee shop plays with a certain humor not only in its position with the scientific area, since it is inside a medical unit, but also plays a little with a term that may eventually refer to alternative medicine or plants as adjuvants in health. Herbal healers prescribe guarapos, but it is also known that the consumption of infusions and juices regularly is very advisable to maintain a healthy balance.

Sweet company. She doesn't drink coffee, but if she did, she would be one of the best company. She does everything to please without sacrificing her own enjoyment. That's what it means to be a comrade! However, for now she only eats kibble and drinks water. She participates with all the lovely forms she knows, and she knows a few: she is called Suri, which means red rose in Persian, but also meeting in joy.

This is a cross post of @adncabrera/lluvia-un-collage-para-cuando-las-palabras-condenan by @adncabrera.Thank you for the kind hospitality of Alien Art Hive.

Hoy hay un sentimiento hecho de recortes. De parches mal pegados. De bordes sin costura. Por eso he hecho este video-collage. Porque las palabras hoy, aquí (que es desde aquí)queman y condenan. Hay un poema que me gustaría citar, un poema como otro parche:

There can be bad days. There can be bad times. Where do we find the strength to go on? There is no single answer. For me, it's usually family, friends, a drawing, a poem, a memory. And coffee. Almost always, with coffee. There are days when you don't want to talk, and that's okay. It's okay to give time for emotions and life to sway again in the afternoon wind, it's okay to give time for the river to return to being the current that brings colorful pebbles to the shore, with a little silt too. No matter.

I drink coffee. It is an event that has been present in my life for a long, long time. However, my start as a regular coffee drinker was relatively late. Some role was played by my grandmother, who prepared delicious and very thick coffees with milk and lots of sugar, accompanied by buns of tender bread with clarified margarine. Whenever we had breakfast with her, she always gave us coffee and my mother was horrified! So drinking coffee with my grandmother behind my mother's back was a small act that vindicated secrets, an intimate and happy space. After that time, when I was very little, maybe seven years old, the most distant memories I have about coffee occurred about ten years later, when I went to drink coffee with the circle of friends at my university. Those were the early years of my literary studies and we would go out with our books in our hands to cafés and also to bars. We drank a lot of coffee and also a lot of beer (Cheers to the undocumented and happy times of the university! Hahaha...).