In a cafe, the voice of a male radio DJ babbles loudly. A steady flow of people enter the crowded place, they buy food and go back to the street or stay and sit at tables and try to have conversations and be heard despite the loud radio. Beyond the big windows, the street is filled with sunlight and with people, people streaming by, with a few gazing in at the people sitting at tables, eating and drinking and gazing out at the people passing.
And, in one corner of the busy, noisy, sunlit cafe, a man sits with a notebook at a table, writing. The babble of ideas in his head is even louder than the babble of words from the radio DJ. The man writing hears only his own words and writes them down, making connections between ‘now’ and…
In the garden, the green of the grass looks impossibly bright. How can the impossible also be real? The deep warmth of the sun soothes my soul. The cat is too hot in her fur coat and hides in shadows beneath a garden chair. She looks up and sunlight catches her amber eyes, turning eyes into jewels. Her gaze flicks to the right, pulled in that direction by the harsh call of a magpie. It sounds like thick cardboard suddenly ripped.
HARVEY DUKE 