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The ghosts of patrons past swirl around this pokey cafe beside the mine disposal encampment. Not in those days the choice of capucinno, or skinny latte or extra hot chai with a dash of soy. Rather a spoon of Bushell’s Extra Fine with a dash of chickory in a chipped enamel mug.
Luigi arrived early, parking his Fiat 124S beside the track ready to half slide down the goat track which wound from the bluff to the park beside the harbour. He had leased the cafe from the Army for five years now and was invigorated each morning by the slide into ‘the office’. It was important to him to have the aroma of brewed coffee infusing every nook-and-cranny before the first customer arrived. He set the ‘Big Band hits of 1946’ on the turntable before dashing out along the pier to meet the first ferry with his morning newspapers.
2 comments:
I'm in the country this weekend ... yesteryear hasn't quite gone in the bush ... it still lurks somewhere behind the capucinno and chai ... in the worn furniture, table setting, the service, the menu choices and bone china cups ... makes me smile.
Where are all the customers. I love the smell of coffee but not the taste...silly.
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