The person serving in the café today is not a young man.
He’s slow, but not because he can’t hurry. He just doesn’t need to - so he takes his time.
He prepares the coffee with care, offers the customer the cakes and lets them choose the slice size.
He selects the appropriate plate from many contenders for the title.
And from time to time he looks out the window and watches the people passing by in the street.
I am sitting to one side, near the back. I can see out of the window as well and I can watch him watching. I’ve chosen a large slice of carrot cake, and a glass of chilled white wine.
I didn’t intend the wine, but as I was deliberating over the cake someone asked for one, took it outside and sat in the sunshine.
Her doing this piqued my interest in the grape.
She had a good choice of dog too, a white Spaniel/Labrador cross sat by her side.
“What’s his name?”
“Oslo.”
Good choice in names too.
The cake and wine slip down easily and I take a pencil from my bag and begin to sketch in the open book in front of me.
It’s that sort of day.
A day when you try.
The person serving is trying too, though in an unhurried, careful way.
The coffee machine has stopped functioning as it should.
“It delivers a fine cup of hot water,” he explains to someone who is trying to help. “But the grinder doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t what?” she demands, a little frustrated.
“Grind.” He has a wonderful aura of patience; it is difficult to imagine anything that would make him snap.
“It’s never done that before?” she snaps.
“I think you mean ‘it’s never not done that before’.” His humour clears the air of frustration settling around her like a cloud and she laughs.
You can see that the elderly man appreciates her laughter. Something in his eyes shines a little brighter.
They are nice eyes.
Not dangerous, though perhaps a little mischievous.
He knows something.
Perhaps his age has allowed him to learn a secret or two.
I will ask him when I finish the sketch.
I too am not in a rush.
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