There is nothing new about what I do
I think as I sit solo in a corner cafe
order cafe-con-leche as big as a bowl
and realise I´m surrounded by other solos
writing in journals
typing on laptops
cafe bowls by their side.
They are all so intent on their self expression
I wonder if they write of me
as I write of them (except I write in my head, as i think I would laugh out loud if I joined them all in this cacophany of scribbling and tapping in this funny little place)
Actually, solo on my right is msn-ing I think
I hear a little "pong" every 20 seconds or so
and a snort of laughter 2 seconds after the pong.
Solo on my left writes bra-less in a big journal, spaghetti straps falling off her brown shoulders, wild greying hair wooly and distracted. She is shiny with heat. Perhaps she writes an erotic novel. I hope I feature in it as the sexy Australian who has the masculine world at her beck and call. blush.
Solo behind me taps on keys, looks to the upper left where her brain be then taps some more. I don´t need to turn round, I see her in the reflection of the dulche cabinet.
There is one couple in the room and they are arguing in soft tones and looking at their watches. He is in trouble for being insensitive. I don´t need to hablar Español to understand that. They stop arguing when their rather ugly lunch appears. I think they wish they were somewhere else, solo.
As Solo number four arrives and is seated in front of me with her laptop and lolly red sunglasses I know it is time for me to scull the gigantic coffee and get the fuck out of this Solo-surreality.
As I leave I pass Solo 5,6 and 7. With journal, sketchbook and mobile phone, respectively
Mama Mia,
There is nothing new about what we do. But it´s kind of nice we all do the same old thing together, bless.
