To a Coffe Place

Cheers from KM and me, with espresso macchiato solos in our hands....our attendance was equally good at the place, you would agree. I notice that you have captured one of our favourite seats. Those sofa seats, separating the cafe from the alley, were like border between two worlds-one that of inside the cafe, infected with order, more or less still with people wearing the expression of being in a break (from something terrible- a torture perhaps!)-at weary rest-like a puddle; while the world out side in the alley was of continuous flow, a thick stream of people flowing by without origin or end; for me, soon, and always, this flow turned into a homogenous mass with one face indisntinguishable from other, relieving me of burden of details (wherein lies the death and decay) and allowing me to see the world in big picture-like an art work appeals to a layman, like it has been for millions of years- a flow forwards, from no-where to no-where, without reason or purpose. It was a very soothing experience, and I craved for it everyday and missed only rarely my cup of bitterness. And in the process, most likely, victimised KM by dragging him along; he survived ever lost me and terribly bitter coffee (also, served in very small dosage like potent poison) with the help of his mobile that buzzed with the regularity of a heart beat. Of course there were some known faces too in the crowed- like straws trapped in the whirls on the edge of flow, mobile but going nowhere-locals like us, hinged to same peg as we were- who worked as my portal back to reality.