i’m always sensitive to sound, some days more than others.

sitting in my new favourite café, i pause for a moment to hear:

– the droning fridge, terrible bane of all cafés that sell cold drinks and eats; somebody please design something less pathetic and noisy. please.

– the espresso steamer; acceptable

– the banging clanging of the girl bussing cups and plates; she doesn’t want to be here, but, money…

– Paul Simon singing “50 years…”

– five or six conversations; some serious, some not, all battling to be heard over all of the above… thus none are private

– bathroom doors opening and occasionally slamming

– a bag of espresso roast beans being emptied into a grinder

– a paper bag with eager fingers exploring and picking apart a muffin

– flipflops? it’s mild on the island; mix of sun and cloud with fog dissipating this afternoon

– a gent shakes a sugar packet

– i don’t know this song

– a spoon falls; the card reader beeps impatiently asking forever if the customer wants a receipt…

the place is alive, yet a Sunday kind of calm. i will momentarily plug in my earbuds and ingest some more Thoreau, and a crossword or two.

there are no ordinary moments.