Cafe

We took the table in the back corner, weaving carefully through the sea of densely-packed tables and chairs. It was tricky to move without trampling other people's stacks of books and coats, to turn carefully through ad-hoc aisles without wiping a table clear of all dishes with our packs, to step over nests of cables snaking across the floor with our salt-encrusted boots. "Sorry, excuse me, sorry, didn't mean that, oops, watch out," came the endless stream of apologies, sincere and received with equal parts sympathy and annoyance. We wanted the back corner table, where most people didn't feel like sitting due to the minefield of humanity that must be traversed, but we knew we'd be safer from the very interruptions we imposed on the others once we got there.

It was only the second time we've taken the back table. It takes three times before something becomes a tradition that must be sustained, so the next time we meet, we'll have to make the decision one way or another. The table was barely big enough to fit two hot beverages, one pastry plate, a water bottle, a bike helmet, two notebooks, and a stack of work prints wrapped in a green bandanna, but we made do.

08 February 2014 19:16