Breakfast's nearly done - omelette and chai - in a neat little cafe on William Street, Northbridge - a student, cafe, culture neighbourhood on the northern side of the CBD. There must be a million cafes like this one the world over; small, re-conditioned and re-painted wooden tables of a variety of shapes and sizes, some retro booths (as we might be in the American fifties maybe), benches made out of three milk crates and half an old plank of wood. There's an Indie band playing n what I'm sure will be an ipod driven player. i've no idea who the band is but the upbeat, slightly knowing observations of the songs imbue the cafe with a relaxed, friendly atmosphere. A young woman with orange hair, a pink jacket and her de rigeur iphone sits in front of the window, next to the pavement from where one can see and may be seen. People come and go for takeaway coffees. They're mostly regulars who smile, their vices singing with the days news or the latest instalment of a story commenced yesterday, last week or a year ago. The guys behind the counter seem not to miss a beat; brew the coffee, put a slice of cake in brown paper bag, listen to the story, ask questions, comment on how difficult / fun / cool / much of a relief to hear that on had to let go a new member of staff who just didn't get what we're trying to do with retail or another spoke of the causes of this morning's hangover, a third talked about honeymooning in Paris and the fourth's cat turned up. I could linger all day.
