Thursday, 25 February 2010

The one where I spy on people in a cafe and go insane

I watched the young couple near me. Well, they were leaning across the table, smiling, touching hands occasionally, smiling more, mocking passing tramps, so I assumed they were a couple. I'm not a stalker, I was just killing time while I waited for something, some kind of literally techniques, I suppose. As I said, they were at the table, talking in low, hushed voices. Knowing my luck, I imagined they were having a Tarantino-style conversation, so the romance would probably turn to some sort of violence directed at me. I slipped my hand into my jacket, searching for the reassuring weight of my hand-cannon. (Literally, a tiny cannon. For many years, I'd misunderstood the Dirty Harry films.) Damn! Of course, I remembered then: I'd lent it to my friend George for his Museum of Mouse Warfare. I wasn't too worried though, I'd seen a lot of films about kung-fu, karate and Krakens, so I could handle myself.
 A few minutes passed, then an hour. The couple had ordered another coffee, finished it, and were still talking. I was watching them like a hawk, perched on the back of my chair. Obviously, they were eying the place up for some sort of illegal high-jinx - glancing around the room, looking at me with a nervous expression. But I was wise to them, returning their gaze intently. They paid the cheque, and escaped the room with a worried look on their faces. Obviously, they met their match in me.
 After I was sure they'd left, I spread my wings and flew back to my chair. I ordered a muffin, then robbed the joint. It's been a productive day.


Homemaker Man said...

I cracked up at the image of you as the hawk. And the dirty harry joke. You spelled cheque wrong.

Paul Blanchard said...

Not any more!... Do people even use cheques anymore? I thought the image of someone reaching into their coat for one was more suitable.

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