Thursday Morning or @cafe of Misery

While in the neighbourhood, I pop into the Stefandom, the huge gothic cathedral, then find a nearby large internet cafe, where the girl at the desk seems to be as cheerless as the light rain that is now falling. Oh, well, she speaks English when she speaks at all. The hardware here is less than impressive, only two computers have a webcam and a headset, but when I try to open a messenger it turns out to be MSN, not Live Windows, and I can't get to hear, let alone see my dad who is online in Israel. I call little miss misery chops, and she tries to "do something", but soon gives up, saying: "I can't understand a computer that gives me problems I can't solve". Oh, that was deep, wasn't it?! My fairly up to-date guide book (Marco Polo, one of my favourites) mentions this cafe but under a different name so I assume it has changed hands recently, and I speculate it must have been a friendlier place before. Or even worse? Still, I check my emails, catch up on the news from the Israel-Hizbollah conflict, fire off a few emails, and make my way to the EBAB apartment. When I spoke to my host I told him I would be a little late, maybe 10:30 or later, would that be OK? He replied that he would wait for me. I feel a little guilty for making him wait at home. In my rush to keep our appointment I forget to return to the train station to collect my suitcase. Damn! At the flat I find him in no hurry as he is spending a relaxed day at home. I have fussed and rushed for nothing.