CAFÉ DRABBLE (28-May-2013)

On a recent wet Tuesday morning, I escaped and slipped down the street to partake of a rare solo coffee.  While watching the pedestrian traffic, there was an intensive burst of SMS traffic between mobile phones that were not more than one kilometer and a high-tide estuary apart.  Effectively, my usual coffee-partner was loathe to leave off from cooking herself mushrooms and eggs on toast for breakfast.  Nor was she prepared to make an appearance in her pyjamas.  As it turned out, I had a date with my muse instead.  Fortunately a notepad was on hand to record our creativity.

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The sidewalk crowd ebbs and flows.  Dogs follow their owners, some unleashed.  Rain falls onto alfresco umbrellas.  Wet tables remain empty.

“It’s my second day at work after five months off,” the waitress at my local café proffers.

‘Baby brain,’ I think, when she apologizes for checking what style coffee I’d ordered earlier.  Again.

“A regular latte… with one,” I smile, gesturing with open hands to the lack of sugar containers along the timber bar where I perch atop a bar stool.  I remember the struggle of work and sleep-deprived thought juggle.  It feels like ten years.  The latte eventually arrives.

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