Notes On: The Table Next To Me...
A lot happens in and around cafes - some raw notes and other pieces from the archives.
The cafe is a confluence.
If you spend enough time sitting and watching you will see there a fascianting coming together of all people, life and occurance. Every type of person having every type of day you could ever imagine.
Regulars and blow-ins, commuters and pensioners, happy and poor, sad and wealthy. They colide like particles in the accellerator, their debris revealing the most bizarre and inexplicable building blocks of life. Amongst it all the barista who pulls the strings and laces their caffeinated lives together with every grind and foam. They swing by for a high intensity sling shot around the coffee cup, flung out into the chaotic, dismal abyss for another go-round until they run dry and slowly but inevitably fall back into the cafe’s merciless gravity.
Here sits the writer in stable orbit. Keeping from the mayhem so that it may be observed like a scientist poring over their data. Eyes searching across the scene, taking it all in, pen at the ready - waiting for inspiration to walk through the door and order a latte.
It’s a cliché and yet it’s nothing new for those curious enough to find themselves sitting quietly and watching the world go by in the very spot where the world goes by. Be it a bar or a train station or a local cafe, if you stand still long enough something remarkable will eventually happen.
I have taken many notes in many different cafes of the annonymous people that I’ve come across. I thought I’d share a few raw ones here and point to others that I’ve published in the past.
“What in the hell is going on!?”
This was something I wrote a long time ago that is a little dark. I found it recently when looking over my archives from www.intheblackbox.com. Most of what I have there is highly random and means very little to anyone other than myself, but sometimes it rings a bell and brings me right back to a specific time and place.
It’s quite raw so I’ve given it a quick edit:
Sitting Across From It
He came in and picked his seat, Pushed it aside and proceeded to sit. Ordered quickly. Suited. With a long coat, Both formal and weather resistant; A suitable functional choice for the commuter. He mumbles to himself With a mad suppressed energy, As if wondering, "What in the hell is going on!?" The strain of life on his face. What mess he is in... It is written all over his brow. His coat; Trapped between his arse and the bench, Falling disheveled onto the floor in a paused action. He continues muttering into his sandwich. No added fries or soup. No time it seems. The napkin pulled, Squeezed and compressed into a ball Sitting on the edge Of his crumbed plate. He's too distracted to feel its effects. His mind is on whatever he left, And whatever he has to pick up When this torturous break has finished. And paid. And exited, With his coattails flowing Behind his shined shoes. The bench is now empty. Waiting, Perhaps for a young mother With an infant boy mumbling to himself As if wondering, "What in the hell is going on?"
At Breakfast (2021)
I have also found inspiration in some more hopeful scenes. My first Substack poem was inspired by the sight of a young family who appeared to be having a quick breakfast with their newborn alongside them. I was not yet a dad myself but I was struck by how they dressed, looking so adolescent and yet setting off on this massive new life with their new baby.
He is proud. Well kept. A clean beard with maybe a days growth blurring the edges. Holding it all steady. No panic, not on the surface anyway.
She is proud. Wearing velcro runners that sparkle. Nervous but determined to get it right. Confident. Excited for the years ahead and the November birthday parties.
A Little Different (2024)
More recently I published a poem about a particular waitress who appeared to be struggling to find her feet in one cafe I had visited. I found the way in which she jarred with the pace of life within the cafe and the world around her to be quite relatable - although an unfortunate situation for her in that time and place. Out of it came this small poem of observation:
And her telling eyes
Softly searched
The swirling currents
For safe harbour.Afloat;
Adrift,In her own perfect present,
Processing her past,
Despite her future;
Waiting on a sandwich
Sometimes the notes are just a highly factual stream of observation that I capture in order to fill in the time. I took this note while waiting outside in the sun for my lunchtime sandwich one day… the simple lines bring me right back to the moment and I can recall far more detail than what is written here - this comes in handy when eventually turning something like this into a more finished piece of writing:
Men pub bus smoking, man throw to ground bags, old team
Shadow light breaking
Deliveries too heavy - boxes - door hitting bike
Man eating take away box crocs
Road blocked but not hard to get around
Cold but sunny and warm
The warehouse for sale forever
The dream you had and the house next door and the renovations the wall the driveway the contractor the diaagreement
The car waiting on cars to move. The blocked laneway and the tut tut.
The bus that barely fits
Waiting longer than expected for a slow day. But in the sun. Warm but cold.January 2024
From the above I can distinctly recall the dream I had the night before that must have been going through in my head - I remember how it felt and how I told it to my wife later on when eating the sandwich at home.
I also recall how the low angle of the January light was dancing through the trees across the road behind me and landing on the footpath at my feet. I was entraced by the way it shifted in the wind. And clearly my eyes caught the footware of another customer who was wearing their crocs while eating their take away… I must have an opinion on crocs…
“the tut tut” was the reaction of a disgruntled driver as they saw the laneway was blocked.. I didn’t hear it but the expression on the face of the driver through the car window was all I needed to see!
And a group of men were congregating outside the pub on the street. They were waiting on bus it seems, they each had a gear bag as if they were part of a team but they were all dressed very differently and most were smoking heavily. One man threw down his bags right in the path and proceeded to light up loudly. He was well dressed but a bit dishevelled and unshaven.., he just didn’t seem to give a shit - that was interesting to me. Perhaps it was the afternoon after the night before. I was 50 yards away but I was as if I could smell him.
These things stick in my head!
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Thank you so much for reading Notes and Noises. It means a huge amount to me to have even 1 minute of your time, let alone the attention needed to read and understand these words. If you like what you see tell other people about it - it is the absolute best way to support me and my work and I would appreciate it hugely.
Haven't read much of your work david but read this one all the way through & what a delight! I love how you people watch and write, me too!
this is great. i love that i'm not the only one who does this. you reminded me that i need to write down my dreams.