Yesterday, I arrived to a city lovingly called the centre of music. I strolled through narrow, cobblestone streets of Vienna without a clue of where I was going. I happened upon a quaint, hidden coffee house, its homey interior reminding me of my own living room.
Yesterday, I arrived to a city lovingly called the centre of music. I strolled through narrow, cobblestone streets of Vienna without a clue of where I was going. I happened upon a quaint, hidden coffee house, its homey interior reminding me of my own living room.
I entered, fully prepared to order a cup of coffee and peruse a newspaper or two, when my train of thought was cut short by a seemingly angry, short, stout man at the bar.