The Cafe Window

The rain came down sideways hitting the thin glass. It sounded like little gun shots echoing on the inside of the café where I sat and sipped my coffee. Rain and coffee go together for some reason. Like biscuits and gravy, or peanut butter and jelly. At least that is my line of reasoning. People often struggle with how I think, but I feel the same way with them. That’s why I’m alone a lot, sitting in this dirty white washed cafe that looked like something yellow was leaking out of the ceiling. It was also a good place to sit and write poetry.

I don’t understand the poets these days. Most of them don’t write for the sake of the art but to showcase their victim mentality. Reminds me of that sad slice of chocolate cake sitting under the glass dome at the counter. The dome that covered the cake was yellow-streaked like the walls. It was like some old smoker let out a drag under the dome every once in a while. Now, that is poetic, the truths of life beyond political and social truths. You know, simple things like a piece of cake that’s been neglected for god knows how many years.

Someone may eventually come for it and claim it like a prized piece of poo.

-Want another coffee, asked the waitress interrupting my depreciations towards the cake.

-Yes please, I can’t get enough of this stuff, I lied. It was thick and reminded me of motor oil.

-I noticed you were admiring Bessy over there, she nodded towards the glass dome.

-Yes I was. I had wondered how long it had been sitting there? (It was not a question but a musing, however she took it as there former).

-Bessy has been there as long as I’ve worked here. It’s amazing that it hasn’t turned some funky color. But she has stayed in her pristine silky chocolate shape.

-It probably has to do with that dome. Maybe when you open it, it will be like the curse of King Tut? (Another rhetorical).

-Maybe. We get offers from people time to time to buy it, but we refuse.

-Why don’t you let them?

-Duh they would get food poisoning. Besides, Bessy is a mainstay in this hell hole. Kinda like those yellow streaks down the walls that look like my husbands drawers.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one thinking these things.

-They remind me of the cigarette stains at my grandmas house, I said. It was true. Those things bled down the sides of nana’s home. She had never bothered to clean them and they only got worse as did her health.

-This used to be a smoking joint until it was made illegal to smoke indoors. I myself quit a few years back myself.

I could now see the smokers lines running down her cheeks like rivers and valleys. They reminded me of my own reflection. Those are evidence of a different time and place that will soon be gone. Our generation had come and gone. We had made a mess of the place for latter generations to pick up. It wasn’t our fault we liked boozing and smoking. It was our parents and their parents. The young people have done a complete three-sixty. Now they are obsessed with things like macro-nutrients, and beats per minute. (Whatever the hell those things are).

-One of these days we’ll chuck her. But that won’t be till we get new owners or demolish this place. Anyway, I have to get back to it.

I nodded to her and lifted my cup. For her age, she still had a skip in her step, a youthful glide. Like that slice of cake under the dome. Preserved from a different time and place. Until the world ends, or this café is bulldozed.

I finally looked out the window and noticed the rain had stopped. The sky had opened up and an impossible angelic light floated down.