Words and images

Outside it is raining; not much, but enough to bring out the umbrellas. 

Inside the Kaffeezimmer the tables are occupied by coffee drinkers. Conversations fill the room. I do not understand them; they exist in another dimension.

A tattooed waitress takes orders, moving between tables and the serving area, delivering hot cups and cold pastries. Removing crumbed plates and cups stained with coffee remnants.

In front of me my camera awaits its next awakening, ever ready to capture passing photons.

My coffee arrives. Hot, strong, crema already dissipating like the passing of the rain outside.

Sip.

Two computers open; keyboards manipulating virtual words. Ones and zeros innately invisible, manifest through electrons and photons.

One couple in secret conversation; their heads together like conjoined twins.

Sip.

A regular flow of entries and exits. More ins than outs. Fewer empty chairs; fewer choices of where to sit, what to look at, though with smartphones who cares anyway?

Middle class coffee consumers I conclude. White Deutsch only. Others drink elsewhere, with their own familiars. Mixed ages, baby to me. Couples, groups, friends… and me.

Sip. Sip.

Punctuating human conversations are those mediated by smartphones. Thumbs engaging in violent conversation with virtual keyboards, strengthening invisible relationships. Maintaining friends and non-friends, all through the power of the electron.

I am (getting) old. Sip. My body is wearing out. Sip. Aches and pains more frequent. Cycling keeps me young, I like to think. Sip. Youngness is a state of mind, I am convinced. Sip. Sip.

Passers-by gaze through the windows, umbrellas raised against the diminishing rain as if water was harmful, an acid eating into our souls. What do they see in those transient glimpses of conviviality? Why do they look? What are they seeking? Are we, who imbibe in the dense, dark, brown liquid, like animals in a zoo, but with freedom to come and go as we please? To consume what we choose from a menu? Sip.

Others pass in ignorance, eyes closed to the goings on inside the poorly illuminated room. Why? Have they already passed judgement on us, we coffee drinkers, we conversationalists, we sharers of friendship, we shelterers from the rain? Do they find us unworthy or unnecessary even of attention? Irrelevant? Sip.

Perhaps it’s all about the coffee.

Sip. Sip.