IMPRESSIONISTIC

Stopping for afternoon lunch at a Turkish café I sit down inside and order coffee with poached eggs on sourdough toast. While I wait I look around and, as usual, impressions flit through my head like butterflies. Across the room, sitting at a shelf-table against a wall decorated with black pipes which end up as lamps, a man is sitting, concentrating on a very small laptop. He is wearing a perfect light blue linen suit, striped blue socks and white trainers. His perfectly cut grey hair harmonises perfectly with the blue suit. I can only see part of his profile, perfectly smooth and lightly tanned. When he suddenly turns his head to look thoughtfully at the traffic passing by outside, I’m amazed that his nose is too long. I expected it to be the perfect size for his face. He wears earphones and is deeply involved in whatever he’s hearing and seeing on the screen. I am very curious to know what it is and can just about make out rectangles of text in various colours, dominated by a narrow yellow column. My guess is that it relates to advertising or architecture or some other profession beginning with A.

When my coffee is brought it’s lukewarm but I drink it anyway. The two eggs on toast are perfectly poached but also lukewarm. I eat them too. The Turkish manager (masked) comes over and asks respectfully, as if I am a VIP, if everything is allright. I smile and say yes, but everything is cold, the coffee, the eggs. The manager’s eyes seem distressed. He asks if I will accept another coffee on the house? I don’t really want more coffee but I say yes. When the new cup of coffee arrives it’s very hot. The man in the light blue suit is now talking into his device but, damn, with all the traffic noise I can’t hear what he’s saying.

I finish my lunch, put my mask back on, go home and write this down.