literature

Cappuccino

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Literature Text

It was the café’s location that first attracted me – well, that and the student-friendly prices. But it was the man in sunglasses that kept me coming back. He was always there – unnoticed by the majority of the customers, of no interest to the others. I, on the other hand, had time to kill and a rampant curiosity.

I would sit, sipping a cappuccino, watching him and all the while trying not to show it. Tall, gaunt and wreathed in a wax-cotton coat that could only be described as knackered, his expression was perpetually thoughtful, despite the black glasses behind which it was permanently hidden – regardless of the weather. Nursing a coffee, he would then turn to his notebook.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me. I would contrive some way to pass him, stealing glances at the notebook sitting on the table before him. It was everything a notebook should be – leather-bound, thumb-marked, and crammed with so many addition pages that it gave the impression, that, on some minor level, it was breaking several key laws of space and time. Every page was covered in text in a tight, cursive hand, or with sketches with scrawled annotations.

“Take a seat.”

I almost had to be rescued from the light fixtures. His voice was a rich baritone that spoke of intelligence and experience, calm, and completely unassuming.

Silently, I did as he suggested, sitting opposite him, entirely unsure of myself, waiting for a question or reprimand. However, none came. Instead, he sat patiently, apparently waiting for me to speak. So I asked what I had always wanted to.

“What are you writing?”

“Anything and everything I have seen, been told, been shown, found or thought for myself. The world out there,” he gestured out the window. “And the world in here,” he tapped the side of his head. “There is a story in everything around you, if you just care to look for it. You look and see the world, and question it – shown by the fact you’re sitting here. So, the answer to the question you’ll want to ask later – go out, see the world, ask questions, and then tell your stories.”

And now I sit in the café, nursing a coffee, turning to a fresh page in the notebook on the table before me.
Inspiration comes in many guises.

Meh, still not convinced I like this one. Very short and random, it pretty much just deals with three things that are fairly important to me - writing, notebooks and coffee ;P.

Scrawled out in about 30 minutes the night before an exam, something about it just feels a bit too sweet and friendly for my taste. Althought I guess that just says something about my tastes.

I also realise this is me writing about a writer writing about a writer. God knows how many literary rules that's breaking.
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YewTree's avatar
Nice piece. I would get rather bored eating the same stuff every day, let alone cooking the same stuff every day so ....... its different. It displays another dimension to your mind. Every facet of a diamond is important, one alone has no sparkle.