I am seated at my usual table in the back of the cafe. A woman with cropped blond hair shuffles hurriedly down the aisle towards me, work bag strapped across her shoulder, clutched tightly to her body. The shuffling, a childish affectation, is incongruous with her otherwise professional appearance. She shuffles her way to the table across the aisle from me, sets her bag down, pulls a laptop out and sits. Her attractively chiseled face is framed by black, thick-rimmed glasses, an effective counterpoint to her short blond hair.
From the front of the cafe a male voice calls out,
K, do you want something?
Mmmmm, I don't know what I want, I am good for now, thanks.
The man who calls out wears a green knit cap. Dark thick-rimmed glasses frame his face too. He picks up his order and walks down the aisle to join Cathy. They give the appearance of being here for a meeting. K is starting to concentrate on her computer screen as the man sips his beverage and dismembers his scone. They exchange a few words, then sink into their separate reveries. Maybe they are just here together and not conducting a meeting, I think to myself. Good, I will not be distracted. They are both attired in New York City uniform black. Rock music that reminds me of Arcade Fire, but isn’t, spills out from the cafe sound system.
A woman in down coat and hand-rendered knit cap arrives and sits next to K. They begin to discuss the contents of her computer screen. Maybe this is a meeting after all, just not between the man who called out and Cathy. I speculate on the relationships.
Now all three are discussing computer screen contents. It becomes clear that they are discussing a website design. I struggle to overhear what is said, but the background music is enough to make it mostly unintelligible. "I mean, why force their hand?" suddenly jumps out. "Whereas a, like a, ... some of them are ... I just don’t." "How many of them..." I am getting fragments only. I am distracted. I pack up and go.