Sometimes the street outside the shop is quiet. There is no movement, no noise, and nobody passes the shop. Sometimes I go outside and look up and down the road. Then I go back in and get on with things.
Today, it was chaos out there. People crowded past in groups with maps, bags, and phones. The traffic on the road equalled this, stopping, starting, parking, arguing, sounding horns, calling from car windows. And today, the groups on the footpath were so packed together that I heard them and saw them. Every now and again I looked straight into a face that was looking straight back at me.
Somebody yelled, ‘Got to call in here on our way back.’ I didn’t see them. They moved too fast. I hoped they’d come back.
I saw the next couple because they paused at the door. He peered in with screwed up eyes.
‘What is it?’
‘Dunno. Medical place I think.’ He looked right at me and abruptly pulled away.
I’m not a medial place.
The next burst of information came a little later.
‘…pulled the knife out and he was still bleeding…’
The first speaker turned and looked right at me looking right at him. I thought, ‘Shit!’
‘You want something to eat, mother? All right, but I’m not fussy about going back to that cafe though.’
‘That wasn’t here, Ed. That was another town.’
He (who wasn’t fussy) humped his shoulders and looked in at me. I looked out at him, sympathetic. I know about getting the right doughnut.
Painting by Charles Hardaker