The Girl Behind The Cafe Bar

The girl behind the cafe bar comes to bus the tables, since all the tables but my own are now empty, but she is distracted by something in the newspaper on one of the tables, something that I cannot myself make out from so far away, and she leans over the table, just enough to brace her arms on its formica top, her too thin arms propping her too thin body, the hipless, breastless body that leaves her grey jeans hanging shapelessly on her hip bones and makes her bra bunch uselessly under her black turtleneck. Her hair is in a bun, but loosely, carelessly, and her bangs are too short to pull back into it anyway, so she looks unkept, untidy, uncaring. She piles the newspapers after a moment, carries the cups, white coffee cups with stains on their lips, back behind the bar, then drifts out into the cafe again, lean arms crossed over her narrow chest, eyes drifting along the tables, aimlessly, around the empty room.

  1. Is it just me, or do many of your casual observation posts like this focus on the ‘assets’ or lack on the women you notice and jot about? I am remembering a piece you published about a very ‘sensual, libidinous’ woman in red and black who was presenting at seminar in TO?

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