Sitting on a corner café where French meets Laprida where my order is about to be prepared by a young mozo. Waiting for a tonic water and today´s special and whilst I do so, I simply just exist and observe.
There are large maple trees along Laprida which stretch some metres above the high roof tops. It seems the trees are in fashion as they are dressed in bark in camouflage style - just like the army printed tank top I looked at the other day. The branches from each side of the Avenue reach out to viceversa branches, as if the trees were holding hands. It creates an image of a green ceiling whereas the leaves only allow a few rays to pass through. I wonder if it would be possible to cross from one roof top to the other on the branches. I will not investigate the thought in depth as my tonic water is served.
Icecubes in a hurry, upwards. Dancing in my glass, tickled by the sparkles.
The avenue is picturesque, like a B&W 1900-photograph of any Parisienne street with a corner café. Small balconies. Beautiful buildings.
A sip, lovely. Very refreshing although bitter. An old lady is dressed for a rendezvous or so, red lips and her finest handbag. Hair is curled. Some lipstick spotted on the cheek, but who cares. She feels beautiful, hence she is beautiful.
Today´s special. Looks delicious. Some pepper please.
A young couple in love. They have to stop to wait for the blue car to pass. So much in love, every moment is a kiss moment. Car passes. Not finished kissing. Another two cars pass by the time they decide to cross the street.
An elderly man sits down at the neighbour table. A large newspaper. Libya. He will probably have a coffee with the cigar he´s smoking.
Delicious, must be some garlic in the pesto.
A taxi is passing slowly. The driver is patrolling the streets for customers. Most likely he has cleaned his work space today, it is shining and so is he. Proud of his work although no customers in sight.
A lady walks her old dog on the opposite side of the avenue. Oh so tired he is. Must have been a long walk this Sunday.
It is Sunday and people are happy. Weekends are a blessing.
I will have an espresso, please.
Boca is playing tonight. Important match. Father and son are dressed in their supporter outfits. He must be at least 4 years of age, the boy. Traditions are important.
Flip flop flip flop. Surfer dude passing. Longboards are in and he has his under his right arm. Flip flop flip flop, surfer dude gone.
Oooops. Delivery guy on scooter in a rush. A car honks.
Hot. Strong. Black. Delicious this espresso.
A family forgets about Monday morning stress with nursery, school, work and homework. It is Sunday and they look forward to their evening together. Youngest one is asleep in the trolley, Mum and Dad hold hands and the middle one has a balloon. Probably McDonalds. The kids are happy. Cinema next?
The bill please.
A man with a flower bouquet coming. Some lady will in short feel appreciated and he will receive a smile, maybe a kiss, maybe more. The man already smiles. I smile. He notices and nodds. Oh yes, she is one lucky woman.
I leave a 2 peso tip and the table for two chitchatting friends to continue, to exist and observe, at this corner café where French meets Laprida.
Wish you all a good Sunday evening.
Vagablond - out&about