Australians (at least middle class inner city ones) have a strong tradition of brunch. In Melbourne we’d spend a couple of hours wedged at a little table in our favourite cafe, Bluebird on Johnston St in Collingwood, reading The Age from cover to cover and drinking multiple lattes. Sadly in Portland and New York finding a cafe where they’ll let you sit for longer than them to clear the plates is well nigh impossible. Despite that we’ve made somewhat of a mission to eat at every Australian owned or themed cafe in New York. We’ve settled on Australian-owned and themed because it is usually better coffee and there is just something about the food. Australians are good at brunch. There’s nothing like a proper latte, some thick-cut toast, a couple of eggs (done however) and a nice selection of spinach, tomato, and mushrooms. Maybe one of those days I’ll even get to read more than a couple of sections of the paper.
Espressoing
A few more days
A final Hi meeting
The local neighborhood bar has a quiet time between six and nine. It is a place that specializes in coffee, beer and seasonal menus. There is just enough of each for a satisfying snack and effective buzz. After the time when the laptop lids close and before the social gatherings start -- there is a sort of twilight*. Often this time is a fugitive ground rife with creative inspiration and meditative work -- of the kind that results in personal reward.*twilight may refer to civil, nautical or astronomical variety depending on your social or terrestrial condition
A man positions his mouse on the edge of his browser window. He clicks, holds and drags the viewport first left then right. The content of a video game promo micro site responds and adapts to the available space. To the man, this is more delightful than the game itself.
A man laboriously moves his piano down three levels onto the subway platform. Classic vocals and strided chords -- he played so well I swore he was blind. Oblivious to the heat on that August stage, he was most in touch with his audience -- whom he elevated with his music.
A woman should do exactly as she pleases no matter what a man may think.
As the Dalai Lama once said, "It is a time when there is much in the window, but nothing in the room."
"No one understands me," she said. Her grandmother was silent for a minute. It seemed she was searching for an answer in the star speckled sky. "But no one understands anyone in this world, darling. We are all unique. It is what gives us a sense of wonder."