1) A group of six passed the windows of the shop. They were jumbled and jostling and loud. It seemed as though they have all climbed off the same bus. The tone of their conversation is concern. Their speech is stretched and knocked about. This is because it was windy. So, they repeated themselves and called and argued, trying to knead logic back into the excursion.
‘If you turn right you’ll get to Adelaide.’
‘No, left. If you go right you’ll get to Harry’s.’
‘That’s where I want to go.’
‘Jesus, make up your mind, mate.’
‘What’s that? What are you saying?’
I watch them blow past, silently thanking them for life. For, of course, this is where life is.
2) There are two ladies. They are great readers, and they are friends. Or maybe they are great friends, and they are readers. They talk in doorways. I only have two doorways, so there they are, digging into the afternoon; quite close to the counter, and therefore close to me.
‘I can cope with the dead bodies, but those little Scandinavian noir things, well…yeah those.’
‘Find a dead body, you know, all that sort of stuff?’
‘I get sick of it. I quite like McCall Smith though. When I read, everything folds around me. Don’t know where I am.’
‘Have you read The Narrow Road to the Deep North, it’s a war story?’
‘What are we talking about? Which one?’
‘Wait, do you think Google are listening to us?’
They buy a modest stack of outstanding reads. They look at me kindly, ‘we’ll be back, don’t you worry.’
I watch them go, silently thanking them for life, for this of course, is where life is.