An old couple.
The old couple leaves.
[exit] descriptive note, He : potbellied,, fat [& [nearly as good as the movie, innocent, harmless, almost touching, almost I said, I said almost, almost and as and if, but I take notice of the resemblance, much of the elements I notice point Pepe [died in 1984, and [according to some inconspicuous note,, drunk [he drank too much, the people he gamed with knew, the neighbours knew and God knew anyone else knew,, Pepe had been decent, at least to some degree: he couldn't care less, the philistine brood had been delegated twice a distance ahead, and knowledge took the urge of his daily needs. His lookalike has a less gargantuesque posture, smaller, his face for some or other reason far from friendly and much smaller actually, a dwarf next to daddy. Furthermore I notice a dark shirt and a red scarf with a Scottish pattern. And a black hat. Slow gestures. Far too drunk to believe in anything else but home. Drunk as a piece of reddish meat just some minutes ago released from a flood of marinade. She, the lady, or something, unidentified identity, slow in her own deep ways, reluctant from anyone ready to point –or anything ready to point a finger at her because of him. Old daddy-o leaves the joint and old mommy-o follows.
After a couple of minutes fresh meat enters the scene.
Fresh meat enters.
A sixpack. Two of that take a table, the others move towards the counter,, The place gets crowded. Young people matched face to face [red lights in a backroom and a row of seats with a huge screen in front [no one over there. The groundfloor partition has two females near one of the windows, a boy and a girl next to the other, and two young males at a small table with a rectangular view on the scenery outside, where more people gather, some of them glued to the window, a mass of coats and trafic behind it, street- and trafic lights, shadow droops,, it has a general sensation of dark after midnight.
Two blokes sat at the edge of the counter, near a doorway to the bathroom. No contribution to philosophy, too late or too early for that. [exit]
A middle-aged suspect.
[enters] Unnoticed. No one seems to take notice of him. He has a dirted leather jacket, a large moustache, hair as a hairy dog would have it,, and shoves towards the counter. It takes nearly half a minute before the waitress takes notice of him; there is a row of people in between both and he acts as if he's simply not around yet, or only half of him, the other half still outside. She takes the order. Six people at the counter. He manages to get to the glass of beer; takes off with a sudden haste. [exit]
My table, the long one, it used to have Miles and Holiday on the wall above it; two female students at about 30 inch distance; candlelight. The edge of the territory is marked by two novels [or books, one a novel, The Rum Diary [the other a Hemingway recollection on Paris. Page 37 : 'Maar zelfs als ik nooit meer kleding zou kopen,' zei ik, 'dan zou ik nog niet genoeg hebben om de Picasso te kopen die ik wil hebben.'
'Nee. Die is buiten je bereik. Je moet de mensen kopen van je eigen leeftijd –Hemingway for that reason.
At the far side . . . farrest . . . A young couple in a more or less regular setting. He sticks to beer, she to a glass of yellowish wine. There's some candlelight over there too, and smooth conversation. A new match enters and I notice the girl, a girl with Brazilian looks.
Girl enters. Immediately afterwards one of the regulars. Then someone with lots of fat hair, glasses, and something hairy on his upperlip too. Smirks. More people. The place gets really crowded.
The newly arrived discuss the ifs; if this or if that. None of the tables available. Too crowded.