Summer notebook series 2

Men can be (like) frightened woodland creatures and take coaxing. Words are fragile things, the flow of words can easily halt.

Entering a coffeeshop (where else would I enact such staleness?) prompts difficult decisions. Shall I list factors? Crowd, music or its absence, music and its acceptability, noise of customers, noise of machines, of the street, of staff conversing, the comfort of seats, size of tables, so forth. Why list factors? We all live the same lives, we all know. But we want to know our petty trials in endlessly recounting petty trials recounted. Still, why list factors? Better to embellish. This prosaic approach won't start any sparks, no great shakes, it's miles away from frissons of the new that frankly I lay in wait for, unexpectant and consistently deriding.

Who are these men in linen suits, badly matched suits, so drenched with suburb and salesmanship? This city is ridiculous. There's art on the walls here, rough wood tables, tired gestures at hip. What brings them here? Non-threatening quasi-rock. Insistent licks, wah-wahing and looping to end thought. No chance at rhythm, no hint at sex as the rest of the world can imagine it. Incremental, lush, flowering. Heady.