A moment with the proprietor
The proprietor is preparing a loaf. The only thing more distinguished than his lack of front teeth is his lack of urgency. It's not your time; it's his, treat it as such. Take a headphone off, inhale and taste the aromas, wait.
The two men rest aggressively at the short wooden table, the kind of rest where the fun and the aggression and the joshing invigorate you. Of course it's fun to be done, and it's even funner when the fun comes to you. One of them brandishes the same distinguished gap as the proprietor; this is a safe place. You rest, the rest will take care of the rest.
The proprietor's answers seem to create more questions. All you did was find out just how much there was to find out. You can't learn it, you must live it. And that is a kind of living that costs money, if the proprietor allows you to pay, to purchase, to live for that brief moment in time in a world specified down to the very last grain of detail by he himself.
In this, your maiden voyage, he refuses payment, but accepts your entrance to his world for a moment or two. You step through the door, your best foot first.