Cafe News, Volume 10
November 9, 2010
It was raining when I got to the café, so I had to sit inside. The tables outside were still set but I hated to do that to the help. They were kind to me in a way no one else had ever had the inclination to be. Sometimes it felt like some kind of déjà vu, as if the whole place had been created for me. Maybe it was, but I kind of doubt it.
The lighting was always perfect, no matter what the mood called for. I could see everyone but still felt like I was quite incognito. Obviously, most of the place was oblivious to my entrance, but several of the regulars occupied their tables, right where I expected, and the Tuesday night shift was especially delightful. I unceremoniously collected several nods and a curt wave before I found a quiet table near the kitchen where I could think.
Clink of glasses. Scent of seared lamb.
In the perfectly lit corner of a small café, the world is being dismantled in tiny little parcels. The pieces are so insignificant their loss goes completely unnoticed, yet the limit as their number approaches infinity equals the whole. The food in the café is superb, the drink strong, and the company sublime. It helps with the process.
The revolution starts at home. Mine did. The image of the Vietnamese monk in flames haunts me. It taunts me. Look what I did. What are you going to do?
Well, I’m certainly not going to light myself afire, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s not my style, if I could claim to have any. I’m more reserved, more, what’s the word, subversive.
Candlelight flickers off the rim of the wine glass centered in the linen covered space in front of me. Everyone is drinking pinot, and not because they want to. It’s a sign of the times. Its inertia is unstoppable. Just have to sit here and wait for the pendulum to swing back in the other direction.
I don’t really believe that, so I ordered the merlot. I like merlot, I don’t care what anyone says, especially not some character in a stupid film about fucking people. Merlot got me drinking wine, along with a summer in Italy, a plate of spaghetti, and a girl. I think the beauty of life is that any individual, at any time, can make the decision that changes everything. It wasn’t going to change anything, I knew, but I ordered the merlot, and it wasn’t very good.
One thing I’ve found about wine is that if you’re not going to spend a lot of money on a bottle of wine, it is best not to spend very much at all. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not endorsing selling your house and living in a bottle of Thunderbird. I’m just saying that an average bottle of Spanish table wine usually treats me just as fine as any California vintner’s trendy pinot noir.
It had stopped raining. She was carrying an umbrella, which said she had been there before and knew it paid to be prepared. He was already perusing the help, which on Tuesday night took some careful consideration. She has gathered the story of every person in the café with one take. He has already looked at his watch four times.
Her hair was the kind that shimmered when the light hit it. I almost wished she had forgotten the umbrella. I tried to keep from staring. I swallowed the merlot and ordered another. Her head turned ever so slightly at the sound of my voice.
The universe revolves around me. Ego told me so.
