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MEANINGFULLY MEANINGLESS MEETINGS

This winter I prefer frequenting The Coffee Shop alone.

Holding the warm cup firmly between my stiff fingers, without any pretentious thoughts, just focusing  on the present moment. Slowly sipping the aromatic liquid I become cup myself, absorbing the sounds, smells and tastes of my surroundings. No judgment whatsoever, just being completely in the present.

The Coffee Shop is my other home now and of course you cannot find better cappuccino anywhere else in the island. And  just for the record, I am not really a coffee person at all, I can go days without even thinking of coffee. Yet, for some strange reason I like having cappuccino at this place.

The whole ritual usually  starts with the exchange of friendly witticisms and wisecracks with Mr. Spiders from Mars. But after he gives me my coffee he leaves me in peace, as any  succesful barmen should-good ol' Mr. Spiders from Mars senses people and instinctively knows when to leave them alone.

This has now become my usually daily routine, to mark the end of the first half of working day.

But in The Coffee Shop one's desire to be solitary is hardly fulfilled. Herman Hesse says in his Demian-"People of the same affinity and sensibility unconsciously attract each other." Therefore The Coffee Shop is normally a gallery of interesting characters. Some of them I like better than the other but  I always enjoy  observing  these people, eavesdrop on their conversations. At times I amuse myself by inventing their life stories.

Sometimes I even talk to some of them but always safely tucked within the limits of casual chatting. These occasions are  quite interesting , at first  you can notice the excitement of two similar souls with the opportunity to communicate to each other, but then very soon ratio takes over resulting in  both parties withdrawing and hiding behind the habitual conversational templates.

Today, the scenario was quite different. I was supposed to meet a very special friend of mine and I  headed to my usual  corner place. Only after I made myself comfortable did I notice the female purse and a pack of   Dunhill lights left on a table In a casual manner.

Very soon it became obvious that these belong to the  tall woman bending over the counter engaged in a friendly chat with Spiders from Mars.

All I could see were her high heeled legs stretching from here to eternity, nice perky derriere and dark hair.

I was sure I have never seen this woman before. Women's behinds  are as expressive as their faces.  Judging the  buttocks  you can learn a lot about the person they belong to, this especially relates to a person's  outlook on life. The worst being prats   of constant victims wallowing in self-pity. The nicest butts unlike their characters are  tooshies of self -righteous know- it-all types.

Anyhow, when the owner of this magnificent  hindquarters turned towards me, my heart literally missed a beat. Sofia Loren, in her late twenties. Big full lips, and big wide eyes under big faintly tinted sunglasses.  Wide eyebrows perching on a big forehead. Big was the key word here. From the curves to facial features everything was big on this woman, but still you could hardly call her anything but tall and slender. In short she was beautiful. 

ME:     Sorry I didn't realize this table was taken

HER:   Its OK, It's my fault, I shouldn't have left, but you know...

            I get restless, If I was with   someone I wouldn't

ME:     You can chat with me, I don't mind...

Smile lights her face and  she tells me her name, pulling out the stool  and after she sat, she continues to slowly sip coffee from the cup she brought with her. I cannot think of anything else but how envious I am of her coffee cup, being teased in regular intervals by those succulent lips.

HER:  R u local?

ME:    Well I like to think of my self as local but I am originally from...

Blank expression on her face.

ME:    You know, Blue Adriatic, Bella Dalmacia!

Still blank.

HER:   You like it here?

ME:      I guess, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Yep, I like it here.

HER:    I suppose its not bad, but I get claustrophobic,  it's so small,

             sigh. Sometimes I just can't  breathe ... but then I drive off 

             to the cliffs.     It gets better then.

At this point I am already swept off my feet with her free spirit as much as with her radiant and soft skin.  No need to touch it, one look and you know her skin feels like softest velvet.

It's  a cold winter's day and she wears a tiny synthetic fur coat but beautiful cleavage teasingly peering from underneath. Oh boy how I wouldn't mind having that cleavage as my private tiny deserted island. I wouldn't feel claustrofobic at all not being able to breathe between those dovelike breasts.

Suddenly my date appears in the doorway. I turn to greet her and when I turn back I could see my new friend packing her belongings and getting ready to go.

ME:        That was quick, not a proper way to enjoy coffee..

HER:       I told you - I get restless...

With a big smile she disappears into a gray day leaving me only with a faint scent of her perfume.

In Social Encyclopedia, also known as Spiders from Mars  you can find following entries for the  desired item:

- Bitch, used to be Miss Something

- Happily married to a Danish guy

- Has children

So what, did I  ever say I was going  to marry her?!

Still it felt like someone detonated a stink-bomb in my insides. You know,  nothing stinks worse then disappointment.

I think I will reek with it  for the rest of the day.