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Cape Town Stories 1

I’m in a cute little Berlin-looking cafe in the more gentrified upper part of Woodstock. In comes a (white) woman with her dog; while she orders her latte, the pug (is it a pug? small, face not made to breath) runs around the cafe frantically, as though feeling nervous or out of place in this cafe made for human hipsters. The pug comes to a stop underneath my chair, I pull up my legs out of reflex, when it leaves this position to find another one, another patron points out the dog poep it has left behind: placed neatly underneath my chair. Next, the (black) waiter is cleaning up the dog poep while the lady is too busy calming down her „sweety“, telling it not to feel embarrassed about its little mishap, as it „happens to everyone sometimes“. I feel like she should stop lying at her dog.

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