Tales from the Cafes (Not Exactly My Dinner With Andre)

© a f waddell 2011

 

 

 

The rows and circles of mostly socially disconnected people dream of connections, wire and flesh. Those without battery power dream of electrical outlets and will make a mad dash to claim one. The others are more discreet. It pays to arrive early and be on one’s toes.

 

The regulars observe the comings and goings of many singles and groups. Conversations are overheard and they're not exactly reminiscent of My Dinner With Andre.

 

A middle-aged, seemingly Christian cultish man and a middle-aged woman have disjointed conversation.

 

“On 9-11 the towers imploded. Don’t forget the suitcases placed in the buildings. And a UFO was sighted.” What, no bigfoot or Loch Ness Monster?

 

“Really? You know what? Those little witches at the boarding house are wearing pentagrams or hexagrams or whatever ya’ call ‘em. Dressing like vampires too.”

 

“They wear lots of black, eh? Have smart mouths?” The Virgin/Whore Dichotomist shared.

 

“Yes! Like that.” She affirmed, reminding me of Fundamentalist Women Who Hum and Sew – then perhaps commit murder.

 

“Oh, did you hear about the zombies?” She suddenly asked, eyes widening.

 

“The what?” he puzzled.

 

“That place in Atlanta, the what do you call it . . . the CDC! They are saying how to prepare for zombies . . . are zombies in the bible? What will we do?”

 

“It’s probably nothing. Or maybe Obama’s responsible. We can pray.”

 

 

I got my shit together to move on  . . . to the next café.