At the Sidewalk Café

Here I am;

Concentrating on every scent;

On every sound;

On every sight;

The birds, trees, buildings;

All combining to create the tapestry.


Traffic speeding past;

Pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk;

Children laughing;

Mothers coaxing;

Babies crying;

An elderly man cycles past;

His tires humming along the bricks;

A city bus stops along the curb;

It’s brakes hissing;

It’s engine idling;

It’s doors sliding open.


The sun is shining;

The café is getting busier;

College students, secretaries, old folks;

All taking seats;

It is the lunch hour.


Across the street, the University buildings loom;

Red brick and ivy;

The Student Union building;

It’s peaked roof;

It’s three floors;

Sun glinting off decorative windows;

Birds perched atop it.


Students and faculty;

Flinging book bags over chair backs;

Placing briefcases under tables;

Talking while sipping soft drinks and coffee;

Some drinking tea;

Some bighting into sandwiches;

Some eating spaghetti.


Over my book;

I noticed an attractive young woman;

Seated all by herself;

Appearing to be texting somebody;

Probably her boyfriend;

To my right;

A middle-aged couple sit;

In deep discussion;

He, a professor of history;

She, a professor of English.


Such is life at my sidewalk café.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.