At first glance, the corner cafe was like any other cafe in the large city of Los Angeles. There was a broken neon sign, faded posters for concerts ended months ago. Signs promising special deals that were always the same. There was a counter with stools, an old brassy radio blasting out some old tunes, bored-looking waiters, and the customers going about their affairs. The coffee and breakfast was generic, like any other cafe. The floor had the checkerboard black and white pattern, with stains of food and coffee, dotting the floor like islands in an ocean. A few customers sat around, having their own conversations. The faded walls had seen all of the events that occurred. If it could talk, it would talk about the time a robber slipped in after hours, or about the old waiter who quit his job upon winning the lottery. The costumer's talked among their cracked white coffee mugs and dented plates, their bent forks resting on the napkins. One such conversation was of a couple's plan on going on their yearly vacation. A family focuses on their son's math test next week. Hardly life changing events, but for others, it's different. A soldier's mother has just arrived from a post office, reading her mail over breakfast, when she sees it. The dreaded government letter: We regret to inform you... She bursts into tears. Hardly anyone notices. For the couple, the walls seem to shine, the tiles bright, and all the flaws of the buildings are overlooked. They can see joy. For them, the sun shines through the dark grey clouds, as they pay their check on the old plastic tray. But, like human DNA, views vary with every person. For the unfortunate mother, the clouds swoop in, completely blotting out the sun. The utensils all seem broken and bent. The shabby walls and broken glass look down at her, as if in recognition of her loss. The half-drunk coffee in her mug seems to become even more darker. The world seems to fade a little, as the memories come pouring in. The waiter notices, and walks over, He starts to ask if everything's ok, then he sees the letter. He pauses for a moment, then wiped his hands on the back of his apron, and told her that breakfast was free. He then disappeared behind the gray swinging doors of the old kitchen. The run down building has seen nearly all types of human emotion. Even if the building itself may be on the verge of collapse, if the health inspector gets severely disappointed, nothing can change what the walls know.

I was kind of motivated to share this old story after reading Skunkbutt 's short story. Not much, but eh.

(From a high school writing prompt)