Robert, His Shopping Cart, and the Priority Mail Envelopes

But it’s not just about that.

The staff at the cafe knows him. He didn’t have to give his order. Someone said: “Hi Robert, usual soup and bread?” He has a shopping cart stacked with priority mail envelopes and plastic bags. He opened one of the envelopes and there were letter envelopes inside it. He fished out dollar bills from one of the envelopes but didn’t use them to pay. Instead I saw him bring out a Capital One card from inside his 66°North jacket.

He took the table next to me. From one of the other envelopes, he retrieved a small notebook, and began to draw. Not doodled, but drew. I wasn’t close enough to see the drawing, but it looked very deliberate and his hands were firm.

I saw someone look at me and I looked away. One can’t be crying at a cafe. Other people have it worse. That’s what I always think to myself. Saves me from being miserable.

This odd life: where you observe snippets of another’s life and hurry up to write it all down. Not yours, but it becomes part of yours.

I’m off to have my hair chopped. I got to thinking this will lighten my head. On my way back, I’m going to have salt tea at Dawa’s.