Cafe Folk

Café – 3 people. 10am 24/09/2015

Person Number 1 who has no name for those of us who watch in the café’s cannot assign names, merely subjective descriptions.

Person Number 1 who has no name wears a red mackintosh jacket despite it being quite warm outside.

Person Number 1 who has no name, sips furtively at what I presume is a hot chocolate (though this presumption comes merely from another presumption; the likely cold felt under the mackintosh)

Person Number 1 who has no name but a slightly dishevelled brow and head of hair; black spilling over the forehead and slightly concealing the frightened, lonely look on the face.

Person number 1 who up until now has had no name nor gender and who to you, never will.

Person number 1 who will never have a name, gets up and leaves hastily leaving behind little memory of their image in my mind.

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In the corner by the window is a man. He is perhaps 30 years old and is eating soup and drinking orange juice. He has a worried countenance. Were he standing I think that he would be well over 6 feet tall and so he stoops down a very long way every time he sips soup from his tiny spoon. His movements are further constricted by a large camouflage jacket that looks stiff at the elbows and spine. I have not noticed the rain outside. He has a very thick beard, like steel wool, protecting his face, jet black. The tiny spoon disappears into its midst only to return moments later, empty. He has short silvery hair giving a clear view of his weather beaten face. The forehead is tanned and furrowed. The cheeks hidden beneath the beard could bear many marks but that is only for me to ponder. His eyes look sadly and apologetically at the now empty soup bowl, as if it were a temptress he should never have allowed to tempt him. But the deed is done so he relaxes back and stretches. He looks comfortably out of the window and happily remains seated, watching the rain with a renewed look of positivity in his once dark unhappy eyes.

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Out of the rain they stumble. I assume, the first place that made sense to their scrambled minds. The beating, pounding heart beneath guilty Edinburgh’s floorboards. Their lives so unbearable and boring that the substance evidently flowing devilishly through their veins is the Eden, solace, the only Nirvana. She sits down at an empty table, he stands, looking out of the window. He seems marginally more in control. She seems happier. Her head hangs down, chin to chest. Dreaming of another world. She smiles. He watches the outside; the city that created him, that did this to him. People look judgementally; but YOU did this! You can’t hide it away! And anyway! At lease SHE is happy……….would you rather be happy within yourself, or unhappy, out-with yourself, AT someone else………..

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