remote cards

In the basement of this bookshop there is a branch of one of the chain coffee shops. One of those places I often wander to on a Sunday afternoon after a browse. Its quite late on this time, hitting closing, I’ve cancelled what I planned to do due to a headache – decided to grab a coffee before just heading home, maybe relax a little, read a little, see if the headache will go away before driving. It’s the same three members of staff that are usually on at this time. The blonde girl, with short hair, usually clasps, a huge chunk of hair gone dark – a style or neglect? The girl with the Gaelic name that looks unpronounceable, with the dark hair in a pony tail, always giggling as she is mocked by the others. The guy, with short dark hair, burly, bit of a spiked style, always probing the girls with his questions. Today the blonde takes orders, the guy makes orders, the Gael is on cleaning tables – last time the girls were the other way round. He says something, blonde says – no, I’m a pescatarian. A what? It means I eat fish. He gets scornful, tries to come up for what it would mean if someone only ate chicken. She isn’t impressed. As I approach the counter I scan the shop, spot the staff, the customers. There is a girl near the counter, fuzzy hair, tied back. She has a pad on the table in front of her, scans me as I scan her – and I wonder, is she writing me as I will writer her? How curious. She packs her bag as I take a seat, meticulous in the way she does so, only so much space, and so many things. Behind me a group, a family across two tables, who just seem to be sprawled, killing time, only fragments of conversation carry. Two teenage boys, one with a “fantasy art book” he is paging through – why is it all photoshopped instead of drawn – he complains loudly. Turns out the coffee shop closes earlier than the book shop, so rather than spend an hour relaxing, I feel more hurried. People are turned away - we're closed. Book staff member comes round with a guy, has whatever he has lost been handed in - nope. So I drink up and leave, hitting the super market for headache pills on my way home.

Labels: book, boy, coffee, fish, girl, glasgow, pescatarian, photoshop

We’re sitting in a bar along side George Square, with a window seat.
In the square we spot a young couple, she is lying on her back and we
aren’t sure how she got there. She kicks her legs, martial arts style,
as though she is Bruce Lee and is about to pounce to her feet in an
impressive fashion. Instead she looks more like the cast of TISWAS
doing the dying fly. He stands over her, offering to pull her to her
feet. After a couple of attempts she gives up and takes hi hand. Once
on her feet she starts to unbutton her top. We look at each other in a
wait a minute fashion. But she only takes the blouse off, shoves it in
her fat white hand bag. Standing there with a dark blue vest top and
pale blue denim shorts. She swings her bag around, takes a fighters
stance and they circle. But sensibly he stays out of her range. Then
they move over to sit on the plinth of one of the square’s statues for
a bit. Then they are up again, she pounces, he retreats, but she has
his leg, and he goes down. So she sits on him. A bus goes by, blocking
our view. When its clear again, he is now sitting on top of her.
People are passing the whole time, it’s a typical Saturday night. Some
slow and comment, bemused by events, some apparently concerned that he
is attacking her, but its quickly clear that they are just kids
playing games. Back to sit at the statue, she must be feeling cold -
he takes his shirt off and drapes it round her shoulders - despite the
fact her own top is in her bag. Then he stands and smokes while she
remains seated. Once he is done, she stands up, slips her arms into
the sleeves and they continue on their way across the square.

Labels: boy, george, girl, glasgow, saturday, square

She is skinny and young. Slight vest top, green with grey stripes.
Baggy hipster jeans, with her hips showing like icebergs, jutting out
from the flesh and threatening to take you down. She stands up from
the table, pulling the bag of college books up to her shoulder. He has
a goatee, and a Watchmen smilie cap on his head. He wears a black
t-shirt with the Autobot Transformer logo on it. Sunglasses throw a
petrol reflection from where they stowed in at the neck of his
t-shirt. He is playing with his phone, still sat at the tables. She
paces before getting bored waiting, and leans over him and kisses his
neck - repeatedly and with loud smacking lip sounds each time. Which
she does until he takes the hint, and stands up, and the couple leave
hand in hand.

Labels: boy, girl, glasgow, kissing, neck, transformers, watchmen

Muscle boy. The coffee shop in Buchanan Street is where I most often see him loitering. He seems to spend hours there. Always wearing a sleeveless green t-shirt, showing off his rippling muscles, a hat and sunglasses - regardless of the weather. Usually he gives the impression that he is only there to talk to girl, always hitting on someone, regaling the latest attractive woman with his stories of how cool he is, between flexing those tattooed arms. The girls usually have glazed expressions, nodding in a way that says they are politely humouring him. Tonight he is standing outside with a shaggy haired guy with a beard, and they are talking to a pair of girls. The body language says that if he stops talking for a second they will leave so fast, their bodies already half turned in preparation. I carry on to the book shop and potter about before going for a coffee in there. And muscle boy appears, I’ve never seen him in this one, so I am surprised. But apparently has friends waiting here for him. After a while they pass me on the way out. Muscle boy clowning around, dancing to the music, but in a gorilla fashion, stomping his feet, slumping his shoulders and swinging his arms. His friends nudge each other and snigger, exchanging “what is he like” glances. He reaches the exit, pulls himself up straight and muscled, and spins on the spot, before stepping out like he was something from Zoolander. The girl coming giggles as she passes, shakes her head, funny idiot.

Labels: boy, flirt, glasgow, muscle, show off, tattoo

A boy of about 10 walks along the street. Traffic whizzing by on this busy afternoon. Its sunny, so he is wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Cheerfully he is in mid-swig from a bottle of cold juice. Sighing content, he screws the cap back on. But in mid-twist, he stops, and jumps. He does a familiar dance. Head back, startled. Shoulder turning, his body twisting. His foot raised for flight. Eyes full of how startled he is. The steps are ones so many of us have done before, most folk would recognise those motions, be able to join in. That dance called - WASP!

Labels: boy, drinks, glasgow, juice, street, summer, sun, walking, wasp

In the cinema. A couple She has short blonde hair, boyish, punky, with a pink corona. She wears a navy blue nearly sleeveless blue top, it has a plunging neckline, which exposes the vivid ink across her chest, a heart on a chain dangling in front. She wears a short denim skirt, with bare legs, a studded belt, and flat, plain, tan coloured shoes. She walks with a definite swagger. He is a good deal taller than her, ropey muscles, with hints of tattoos at the wrist, at sleeve line, more subtly shown off. A black hat, woollen bunnet style, with skip cap front, worn at a slight angle, and never taken off. He walks with a slouch, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. As soon as they are seated she trots back down the stairs, nipping to the toilet before the film starts.

Labels: boy, giggling girls, ink, pink, slouch, swagger, tattoo