Sunday, March 11, 2007
Rainy Wednesday
Sitting sipping coffee in the Nightcliff Groove Cafe. The monsoon's pattering softly on the canvas overhead, while surrounding banyan trees drip greenly.
At ten-ish on a Wednesday, the patrons scattered thinly - there's me with my novel, two women at separate tables, each scanning today's NT News - for jobs perhaps or just what passes for the daily news.
One man, solid, casual, damp, dark hair, chats on his mobile phone, while in front of him, his leg juts straight, encased in plaster from toe to knee.
A sharply alternative woman with laptop and a slew of paperwork, hair skinned to the bone and a jaunty cap like an overgrown skull cap - what does it signify?
Two workmen in hi-viz vests, in animated conversation about fishing spots, favourite pubs or the bloody boss, smoke their way through the gentle morning drizzle.
Cups clatter sharply, a counterpoint to that plosive tock of raindrops overhead.
And peace softly reigns with the rain, at the Nightcliff Groove Cafe, on a Wednesday in March.
At ten-ish on a Wednesday, the patrons scattered thinly - there's me with my novel, two women at separate tables, each scanning today's NT News - for jobs perhaps or just what passes for the daily news.
One man, solid, casual, damp, dark hair, chats on his mobile phone, while in front of him, his leg juts straight, encased in plaster from toe to knee.
A sharply alternative woman with laptop and a slew of paperwork, hair skinned to the bone and a jaunty cap like an overgrown skull cap - what does it signify?
Two workmen in hi-viz vests, in animated conversation about fishing spots, favourite pubs or the bloody boss, smoke their way through the gentle morning drizzle.
Cups clatter sharply, a counterpoint to that plosive tock of raindrops overhead.
And peace softly reigns with the rain, at the Nightcliff Groove Cafe, on a Wednesday in March.
Labels: people-watching
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