ECHO 11/3/06

Saturday morning, early walking – empty streets, the silence lovely – broken glass across the pavement, brown bottles – up by the creek the wind and cold come in, whipping up eddies in the road dust – the same wind is channeled to a disabling strength between the steel and glass corridors at Canary Wharf, pummeling the face –

The café owner loves to talk. Delicate Portuguese accent; expressive. Talks to a customer, a woman in late middle-age pulling a shopping trolley and dentures, about his family and how he feels jumpy today and he doesn’t know why. Yes he told his wife this information this morning but there wasn’t time to discuss it properly because he had to get out and open up the café. Slick contemporary joint that it is: leather seats, wood-topped tables, chrome bar, coffee machine, selling continental bistro food, cakes and confectionery; Italian style.

He is charming yet capricious, fissile, and volatile – I’ve seen him explode on a number of occasions, though never without just reason – when it happens it is fierce and sure like a knife – strike, remove –

He chats next to a pretty young blonde woman who obviously comes here regularly – she orders a semi-skimmed cappuccino - they talk about their coffee consumption, he explains that he has had to cut down and she echoes the same, talking brightly about keeping things in moderation – questions about the success of the business, questions beyond the usual, a flirtation perhaps? He smiles, and his childish grin comes in to play – he has odd skin, dry and paper like, almost expect it to crack when he smiles, but it has a moon like quality to it so he appears to glow from time to time –

The young woman keeps chatting – there is a vivacity in her voice and body that reminds me of Pol, my lover – I recognize it because I don’t have that ability to be effortlessly sociable, gregarious; I am the polar opposite for sure: quiet, reticent, more a dark cloud than a sun – the café owner is distracted by another customer waiting to be served and so he has to move on, but before he does he gives the woman her cappuccino for free – people like that, especially women, often receive gifts because they give so much of themselves and they give it freely, they trust in other human beings (just like Pol) and the universe rewards them – personalities like mine, reserved, make their own way and receive such things less often – it is no matter, it is just the way things are –