Thursday, September 24, 2009

do you want to go to the seaside?

(found) I'm sitting here in the café next to three French bikers, one wearing Chanel. When the bagel with cream cheese arrived, the man poked it and his friend prodded it. They don't exist there. Their voices throw me back. Soon I will speak, but not yet. They don't know it, but I feel almost a sense of solidarity with them. Chanel keeps saying "ba-GEHL?" in an inquisitive voice. As they leave, they leave the silverware in the paper cups, everything somewhat strewn across the table. You don't do that here. You bus your own table.

Out the window a big ball of orange fluff pulls his elderly owner down to the beach. At least the fluff would cushion her fall.

Couples vie for the desirable Nook Table. "Ohh,"they say disappointedly, "someone's already got it. "

It's funny that I'm sitting here, trying to get internet just like always in Spain and my travels. Only now it seems even harder. This café is the only place that offers free wee-fee and the network is down. Go America.

"I've got a peach french toast?"