remote cards

Its Saturday lunch time and we are meeting in the latte wall place again, at noon. But I need to park first. The only option that isn't going to ruin my day is the 24 hours for a fiver, but at this time of year, whatever weeks from Christmas everyone else is thinking the same thing. We drive around in circles. some people forgetting traffic goes both ways, some people making dreadful manoeuvres an one can't help but wait for a dreadful accident to happen. It’s hitting one in one out levels, and I patiently let a few people out, letting the people that got there first from the other side take the space. My turn will come, and it does, soon enough. Even if the van I have to let out first nearly makes me lose it and the guy behind is determined to drive through me.

I walk from the car park to the latte wall. A five minute walk, more or less. And on every street and every stretch and every corner, I see traffic wardens. Out in force. They walk from car to car. Checking every single one of them for parking violations. I’m glad I got that 24 hour parking covered, ticket guaranteed other wise on a day like this. I make it to the cafe, only two of the guys here so far, so i order brunch. Lily from the other night is the only member of staff from the previous night. She is still wearing too much make up, that light brown hair tied back again, that glint of a stud in her upper lip. This time there is a new girl and lily is telling her what to do at every stage. Skinny girl, short blonde hair, really bleached, a white ribbon bow tagged on side of her head. She has a nose ring, skinny plain black shirt, with no sleeves that some how makes her stronger and more capable, blue jeans, trainers, much more casual than lily.

Perhaps more boyish, but probably more interesting in the end, for all that. You put the pie in the oven. You wash the plate like this. A steady stream of instruction. The girl is easy and gets on with it, not got the same competitive edge lily seemed to have.

A family come in. Maybe 3 generations. Sit round a table. Wait for a little while to get everything and they are gone in no time. Replaced by two Scandinavian girls, tall thin, blonde, chattering in their language. The taller stands and stares at me for a moment, while she takes her jacket off. Maybe trying to read my shirt? Though, the latte wall is above my head, so maybe it’s not me at all? A dark haired girl comes in, sits at the table between us and the Scandinavians. Something about her suggests to me that she is a dancer, though the lines on her face suggest that she looks a little older than she is, certainly she is dressed younger. Umbrella, puffy jacket. Jeans, shoes with thick soles, a cardigan and blue t-shirt. A hair band, thick and black holding her hair in place. As she goes back to the bar to collect her coffee i spot the number of piercings in her ears, the bolt through the back of her neck – been a while since I saw one of those.

There is a couple at the other end of the bench i am sitting on. She goes off somewhere, he is shaven headed, well wrapped for the weather, even though they've been sitting inside for a while. I’m wearing my “breath deep and let go of things” t-shirt which just arrived in the post yesterday. The shaven headed man leans forward and asks where I got it, so I try and explain the whole history of t-shirt of Adam Greenfield doing his version based on the previous versions. He asks whether he is a Buddhist, talks about the wheel of dharma on the t-shirt, asks if i am a Buddhist, admits that he is. We talk about science, a bit about religion, about how those fit into Buddhism. Then he smiles, tells me he'll let me get back to my writing, with the warning that I can expect these types of conversations wearing this kind of t-shirt. I can take that, I tell him.

Saturday is obviously busy. There are more staff all the time. Soon there are abut 8 of them. Maybe it’s a shift change? An older woman, a red lanyard round her neck suggests that she is a manager, she is in a flap, wandering around, clutching paper, presumably making sure everything is ship shape. There is a floppy haired 20 something; the hair dyed a kind of burgundy. When they come in I am sure it is a skinny floppy haired guy, a customer, but jacket shucked, behind the bar, serving people, clearly a member of staff. Tattoos in a circle round the neck line, round the collar, glimpsed, stars, the usual 5 pointed ones, and the sci fi flare ones. From the manner, the voice calling out orders being delivered, I start to realise it’s actually a girl.

The Scandinavian girls are replaced by a couple. He sits on the bench, in the corner, she sits balanced on the wooden chair, and they drink coffee, and read the Saturday paper and don't talk to each other. He sits back, his arms spread, flat out along the back of the chair, sitting there like he is king of the world. His stubbled shaven head, the hint of Saturday casual shirt collar beneath the smart casual jumper, with its little breast motif for brand. She sits in brown greys, layers that are different colours, but of such similar shades they all blend together. Dirty blonde hair, pearls round her wrist, those ugly brown ugg boots which seems too popular. He stares over her head, before shrugging going back to reading supplements and she decides to call someone, sitting side on to him, her phone held to her ear.

It’s funny how things work. There is a father and daughter come in. and they were here before, the first time i was in here this year, over a week ago. Now there is a girl and her friend at the bar. She has an olive skinned face, her hair in a certain style, a quick pretty smile. This is third version of her i have seen today. The hair lengths have just been slightly different, a little lock of hair here or there. but other than that, they were nearly identical, enough that I’ve had to double take the people just arriving who look like people i haven’t seen leave. I look up after another while, ok, this one is skinnier, more drawn and older, but certainly stamped from the same mould, children clinging to her coat tails.

Lily comes back from her tea break, the androgynous kid with tattoos by her side, lily spouting forth “well that’s what i think” and i can imagine her being opinionated and not afraid to make sure people know it. A couple have taken the table where the “dancer” was sitting; she arrived first, got herself tea. He arrives and phones her to find out where she is sitting. She can't understand why they can't see each other, after all these are the first seats you come to when you enter, but they are kind of tucked under the stairs to the mezzanine level. After an extended conversation they work it out and he comes over to join her. They exchange enthusiastic pleasantries, the kind of friends, but not lovers, the tone and phrasing says this. Then they both get out pocket note pads. He is scribbling rectangles on the page; they compare notes and drink tea. There is the university just round the corner, one of the colleges a bit further along. There are weekend classes, and the like, my boss having spent last weekend in this very uni for his night classes. Fragments of conversation drift over, we'll make this one red, a strong red, this bit we'll have in black and white, see I really like your bit, its got that kind of shouty feel to it. There is a church, i try and visualise, right next door, I suspect, which has been converted into the Ramshorn theatre, which is run by Strathclyde University. I saw a student production of “of mice and men” in their once. He stands up, goes for more drinks, and I get a better look at the jars that have been sitting on the table, they have one each – one of blackberry jam, the other looks like chocolate. and something in my head clicks, getting a better look at the scribbles, and realise that they have drawn jars, the lines show squares within rectangles as a label, the line across the top is the lid. They must be doing some kind of business project, come up
with the perfect slogan for selling jam.

Someone asks the new girl where the toilets are, typically British, “excuse me, where are the loos?” they are upstairs, she tells the woman, who turns and goes upstairs, then she thinks and says to one of the guys she is working with “the loos are upstairs aren't they?” he nods.

Maybe we should start with a close up of the jar? Just like the label? Then it’s about set up, about where to buy labels. funny how voices carry differently, he is sitting closer but i can't hear a word he says, but her voice is higher, cuts cleaner through the low playing music, the hum of other chatter. While with the new couple who have taken the table from A and C who have gone to watch the rugby, I can hear his voice but not hers.

Lily leaves, her shift done. Funny how clothes make a person. How every member of staff is pretty much in casual black, with maybe jeans or black trousers. But that I'm going home now layer says so much more. The hooded top, the handbag, coupled with the make up she has been wearing marks her as being more trendy than the other girls. the jam couple leave soon after, he makes a comment, she says sorry, but her parking ticket will run out. he heads upstairs for the toilet after they've had a hug, her having to stand on tip toes to reach round his neck. she returned the jam to her bag, had to prompt him to take his jar, him nearly having walked away without it.

A while after lily's departure new girl's shift is finished, she reappears with a cool jacket and a scarf, and a big loose bag. she potters about, asking about shifts, getting some change, a coffee, taking her time to leave. she talks to the girl who was on the first night we were in here, the tall one with the pony tail, who asks her if she has any friends who might want a job as well. in the doorway, she pulls up her hood, takes a mouthful of coffee, then out into the dark, into the rain, shift done.

I’m getting to that point I’ve been writing too long, getting restless, but too early for the theatre tonight. people have come and gone in the group. a pair of Thai girls arrive, they order coffees and cakes. and the first thing they do on sitting down is take pictures with their brightly coloured and flowery camera phones. I can't help but smile, and say how much I just love being part of a generation where the first thing they do with food is take a picture of it. changed times.

Labels: adam greenfield, advertising, breath deep, buddhist, food, girl, glasgow, jam, lily, nanowrimo, strathclyde, waiter, waitress

I am waiting for my sandwich to be toasted, when the guy who served me comes to the delivery end of the bar where a girl is making a latte. He is tall, floppy haired, looks incredibly young, though as he gives the girl advice it is clear he is a veteran of this establishment, and she has yet to conquer the latte wall. She is probably only a few years older than him, hair tied back, nose stud, smart/generic black blouse. She does the coffee and prepares to add the milk, no, hold it at this angle, he tells her, down low, touch the surface, that’s how you get it. She follows his instruction carefully, and gets the desired results, see, told you it was easy. She stands there and looks at it and grins, I’d been holding it too high, and that’s how someone else told me how to do it. As she straightens up and does a little victory stretch, her blouse rides up at her waist, providing a flash of colour on her hip, a flower, a lily on a pad, the kind of tattoo you expect her to have a matching one on the other side. She prepares to tip the coffee out, you should take a photo, she shakes her head, its not quite perfect, but a start. You should at least drink it, he tells her, she shakes her, you could add sugar, he suggests. Do you want it, she asks, he doesn't. I’m tempted to say I’ll take it, but don't, and it gets tipped away. He goes back to the toasting machine, takes the next customer's sandwich and puts it in the toaster. Brings mine over on a plate, shouts out that it’s ready, despite the fact I’m standing right in front of him, he looks through me. That’s mine, I say, ok, he replies, you have your drink, he asks, no, it’s on the counter behind you. He grabs it, puts them both on a tray and I go back to join my friends. Sitting down I spot the latte wall, a series of photographs of lattes, each with someone's name penned beneath it. The new girl wanders around, clearing tables, chunky boots, skin tight trousers, no doubt waiting till she is ready to get her latte up there.

Labels: coffee, girl, glasgow, guy, latte, wallet

Across from the cinema there is a corner shop, maybe one of the 24 hour ones, or at least a late night one anyway. A lot of the people who go to the cinema come here to get snacks and drinks, rather than being tied to the over priced brand restricted stuff you can get inside. That’s what I’m doing here, its what the couple in front of me are doing. He has just asked her something about her relationship, to which she responds - it depends on my mood. He is taller than she is, shaven head, a bit stubbly, a smart jacket over totally casual clothes. She is short, wide, long red hair, a skirt and bright red tights. She shrugs when he repeats her words, he adds - that doesn’t sound too good. She laughs, well, I’m thinking about dumping her. But yes, I am that bastard, she says, I’m trying to decide whether I’ll sleep with her one last time before I dump her. He makes a sound, she shrugs, laughs, I am that guy, she says, that bastard we all love to hate.

Labels: cinema, girl, glasgow, guy, hate, love, red head

There is a couple at a table in the outside part of the café, it’s a warm day, we’re sitting out there. He is sprawled. Brown trainers kicked off on to the ground. His legs across a neighbouring chair. Black socks, blue jeans, a t-shirt. He has long hair, straggly, tied back. A beard to match, a dusky, sandy kind of colour. His arms are covered in tattoos, long ones, extending all the way across his hands, right up to the knuckles. He smokes and drawls in conversation, utterly relaxed. She looks a little more “proper” in her manner. A black dress, casual, a red cardigan. Her hair is bobbed, jaw length, straight – like a librarian slash dominatrix. She has a stud in her nose and no apparent tattoos. She leans on the tables, her elbows, seemingly hanging on his every word. She smiles, and laughs when it seems appropriate. They are there for a good while, just hanging out. Till eventually they leave, he cycles by 2 minutes later, that blue vinyl courier bag over his shoulder, absent minded making his way to wherever.

Labels: ars electronica, girl, guy, linz, tattoo

In the main square there are a number of installations and temporary venues as part of the Ars Electronica. The Japanese Media Festival is touring Europe, part of its contribution to Linz is a game dome here, a constant draw for people to pop in and play games. Then there is the shiny surfaced block of the 80+1 building, which has a handful of interfaces, video displays, and an information desk. Between these two structures there is a fountain and a virtual taxi round Tel Aviv and a sound installation with recordings from a Swiss tunnel. Staff flit between the pieces, with their orange shirts, with the Ars logo on the breast pocket. We pass this at various times through the weekend, every time we do there is a blonde girl loitering around. Short hair, trimmed at the back and sides, floppy on top and at front. She is always wearing a t-shirt, something sleeveless, and baggy jeans. Sometimes she has her hands in her pocket, sometimes she is standing smoking. The last time during the festival she is sat on the tunnel simulator, one arm resting on the side, the other with a cigarette in hand. She has curled tribal spiral earrings through her ears. And at another point I see her and a guy with dreads cycling the street close to the 80+1. After the festival is winding down we are still wandering round the city as it gets quieter, as they already have that shiny surface stripped down to the wooden interior. We sit in the upstairs of the kebab shop, eating a duran for lunch; I glance outside at that wooden building, a security fence round it, components on the ground. And there she is again, that blonde girl, part of the crew taking the building apart – at last, after all that waiting, she gets to demolish.

Labels: 80+1, ars electronica, blonde, girl, japanese, linz, tel aviv

We are sitting in a bar when a girl comes in, a friend of a friend, so she comes over and chats to us. How are you liking Austria? She asks me. I’ve only been here a day, it’s rained most of that time, we spent the afternoon in a museum. What can I say? She has come in with two shady looking guys, who don’t come over to join us. They sit at the bar, watching everyone, talking to each other. We leave about then, so she goes back to join them. Later, we are in a packed club, a crush of bodies, and I see her in the crowd, amongst the cloud of smoke and flashing lights, the pounding music. We don’t stay long, having wandered in long enough to get a flavour of the place, before wandering on to the next place. We manage to get a table in Cubus, in the corner, with the lights of the AEC’s façade still going through their colour spectrum beside us. We’ve been there a few minutes when the two shady guys appear at the next table, no sign of the girl this time, just the two of them at a table, looking shifty. A waitress appears almost immediately. I swear I hear her say – so this is the bag? To which they nod. And she grabs a bag from the floor by their feet, where I hadn’t seen it. And she is off with it, returning a minute later with a beer for each of them. Five minutes later a waiter comes along, stands and chats to them, he is grinning, pleased about something. The two guys sit a while, the beers barely touched, instead nursing soft drinks, smoking, looking shiftily around.

Labels: ars electronica, bar, girl, guys, linz

Saturday is the busiest day of the Ars Electronica weekend. We wandered through the OK centre during the day. In each room there was a member of staff, most likely a 20-something girl, in a blue OK t-shirt, with a picture of the Ferris wheel from the roof on it. In the second last room, the one with the lamp shade, the video about the pillars which have been written on, before the vortex, there is a girl with long red hair, the blue t-shirt, casual black trousers, and floppy boots, with little heels, which look a little out of place with the rest of the outfit. Back at the OK about 10-11pm, and the place is mobbed. There is a club in the top floor, the walls covered with binary projections, and blipping glitching electronic music, we’ve been up there, but come back to the lobby. There is a bar on this level, another down stairs, and a video store, we’ve caught up with friends here, loitering around, and waiting for other people. And I spot her again, the red head, shoulders curled, slouching, looking bored, standing by herself amongst the crowd of people. R is hitting on girls, smiling as he steps into their path and says something clever. Mostly they ignore him and keep going. He is a dedicated ladies man, but for all that he misses the red head, who might just be bored enough to humour him. She finishes her drink, looks around and seems to shrug; she wanders behind the counter of the reception/video store desk and retrieves her jacket which has obviously been shoved down there out the way. Pulls it on, a black jacket, tugs at the zip, and slinks out into the night.

Labels: ars electronica, girl, linz, ok, red head

I pass them Saturday night and again on Sunday afternoon. A couple busking, a pair of teenagers, nice respectable looking kids. This afternoon he is wearing a cardigan and jeans. She has shoulder length hair, a green and black checked dress. The skirt has body, ruffled, but then she also seems to be holding it up some. Showing off her knees as though she is trying to be daring. He plays guitar, she sings, and it’s obvious that they are new to this – because they are far too quiet. The quietest buskers ever – you would barely know they were there, even walking by them. Though they do have a handful of coins in the guitar case, so they can’t be that bad? (Unless they put them in there themselves to look convincing?)

Labels: busker, girl, glasgow, guy

There is a Polish girl floating around the book shop. She has long brown hair, tied back. She has a pronounced nose, short skirt, great legs, brown boots, and a pink jacket, which is embroidered with patterns. She sits on the floor by the crime section, and then later is perched on a chair beside the table of chick lit. She seems to have been there for ages before finally going to the sales desk. The girl
at the check out has just taken the books from her when there is an announcement. Someone has handed in a lost phone, it belongs to the person they name in the announcement. Its her phone, she gasps. The girl calls down to the front desk, and they bring it to her. Explain that someone handed it in, and they only know her name because her husband phoned looking for her. Is just like een fillum, she says,
grinning, her English heavily accented.

Labels: girl, glasgow, phone, polish

A couple walking along the street. She small, dumpy, thick ankles, big cleavage, with out being fat, but hardly dynamic. He finishes telling her a piece of gossip. She then says, I’ll be Batman, you be Robin.
Pardon he says?
I’m Batman, you be Robin, she repeats as though it’s obvious. I am so obviously Batman in this couple, she clarifies as they walk by me and continue up the street.

Labels: batman, girl, glasgow, guy, robin

We are watching Shrink for the 1st time. Three human beings becoming shrink wrapped for an audience. A girl appears, kneeling at the front to take pictures. She has dusky skin, suggesting an Indian heritage. She is slight, bobbed fashionable dark hair, a short black dress, tights, flat shoes. Round her neck she wears...a scarf? It is some kind of three dimentional fashion art object, one almost suspects she fabricated it herself in one of the labs in the Ars Electronica basement. Its streaked with orange chunks, hanging off a black net frame. Its kind of intriguing.

The next day, we are back in the Brucknerhaus, this time for the gig by Carsten Nicolai and Ryoji Ikeda. And there she is again, with her boyfriend. He looks stylish too, that pimped out hipster gangster kind of style - shirt, tie, waistcoat kind of deal. She is wearing a full length skirt, but its kind of a double skirt. The top part, which comes down to mid thigh is solid and black, from there down to the ground it is sheer, black and pretty much transparent, stick legs, and flat sold sandshoes are visible.

After the gig we head to Cubus, the bar at the top of the Ars Electronica, various parties meeting up at the end of the night. One to hit the road, and all that. And there they are, the same couple, sat at the next table from us. I guess thats the nature of events like these, seeing the same people over and over, especially when you have a style as eye catching as hers.

Labels: ars electronica, austria, fashion, gig, girl, guy, holiday, ikeda, linz, noto

She wears a white blouse top. Has long brown hair, propped up on her head, held back by black sunglasses. She wanders round the book shop for a while, before heading into the café. She sits along one of the sides, overlooking the floor below. She has a coffee and a packet of crisps. She eats them carefully, one at a time, each thin slice of cooked potato held between finger and thumb. Poised while she reads, and then eaten. Then the next, in hand, ready. When she is done with the crisps, she produces a lollypop – a rectangular candy on a stick. She eats this the same way, slow, precise, careful – savouring it. The stick wiggles in her mouth, protruding as the turns the page, before being poised again. With time, it gets smaller, shrinking to an arrow
head, then smaller still.

Labels: coffee, girl, glasgow, lollypop

I am in the photograph that she takes, writing this I guess. Perhaps, depending on her focus. Sitting in the cinema bar. Two guys came in and got themselves drinks. They chatter away – foreign – but I’m not sure from where, some where Mediterranean? One is tubby, his hair straggly and thinning, his belly pronounced, a tufty goatee. The other is younger, more handsome, dressed more smartly, though they could still be brothers. They’ve been here a little while before she arrives. And she is eye catching. Carefully styled hair, shoulder length, wavy, dark, with her fringe a blonde tint. She wears a short, tight, zebra print dress. It shows off her nicely shaped rear and props up and compliments her cleavage. The dress leaves her shoulders bare, it has a back slit that shows a bra strap and bare flesh, it is short enough (and rides up when she sits) to show her nice legs (wearing black tights). She wears gold rings, one with chains across the back of her hand, connecting to a bracelet around her wrist. As soon as she sits down the produces the camera and they take turns snapping each other. The tubby guy get the camera and tells the two to get together. So she clambers into his lap and they snuggle together. Staying that way even when they stop taking pictures. The younger guy running his hand up and down her bare back, his hand through her hair, and they kiss, wetly. At times they switch to English as though they are not quite all from the same place, or they can easily express certain things in a different language. The dress is thin, it clings to her flesh, his hand through that slit, grasps her pink bra, and undoes the clasp. Holding the ends in his fist. She looks at him, a stare, until he does it back up again. Then she moves off his lap, back to her own chair. About ten minutes pass and words are exchanged. The tubby guy stands up and leaves, there almost seems to be an element of hostility in the air. The couple exchange glances after he has gone, before a moment later and she is back in his lap, kissing and having her hair stroked. He fiddles with her bra again, this time she slaps him, enough to get his attention focussed. After a while the pair get up and leave, looking at their watches, time for the film to start. Heads turn all around to watch her leave, to watch that dress cling to her body. She really is something, and totally over done for a Sunday afternoon in the cinema, but she doesn’t care. That’s that then? But five minutes later, the tubby guy reappears, coming round the corner to return to that table. He stops, looks confused. Presumably he popped out for something, but took longer than expected – they aren’t there, so he turns again, and goes off to find them.

Labels: bar, cinema, dress, girl, glasgow, guys, zebra

A girl wanders through the art and travel section of the book shop. She wears a light black jacket, has a black t-shirt, and her long black hair is tied back in a pony tail. She looks about 18, fairly young, with a ring through her nose. She wears short, short, denim shorts that look like they are in danger of disappearing into intimate places. She has long, bare legs, is wearing chunky, chunky boots, soles that are several inches thick, then several inches more. Her legs are a riot of colour from the knees down. A rose to the side of one knee cap. Other bold large scale tattoos coming from the boot line, more flaring flowers. Quite what they all are I don’t really see, but one thing is clear – these are not casual tattoos – these are bold statements.

Labels: flower, girl, glasgow, tattoo

I’m having a quick bite to eat, sitting by the window, and I glance out the window, which looks out into lane. There is a Chinese guy, coming out a side door – I think there is a Chinese restaurant just at the front. He waves a hand, then holds up a finger – ONE! I glance around, surely he isn’t indicating to me, so who is he? But no one by me even notices him. I glance back, as he approaches the car parked right in front of the window, which is when I realise there is a Chinese girl sitting in it. She gets out and they exchange words. She is dressed in a grey top, long sleeved, with a baggy front, which hangs loose so that you can see that she is a more fitting white top underneath. She is wearing grey black jeans, and brown black cowboy boots. She slips the boots off, leaning against the back door, chucking them into the back seat, as she slips on smart flat soled shoes. Slipping off the lemon yellow socks which she wore with the boots isn’t wearing with the shoes. (This is the second time this weekend I’ve seen a girl changing shoes in the street, something which I’ve actually seen with some frequency – the night before girl was changing from flat soled flip flops, into higher heeled strappy shoes for going out.) Then it’s into the boot, pulling out jackets, a flask, a couple of bars of some kind of Kinder snack, and clutching cinema tickets. A polished metal flask, small sized one, maybe a couple of small cups worth, a curious thing to see someone carrying to the cinema on a summer night. They juggle these between them as they get ready, he watches her pull on a smart black jacket, then she takes the stuff back. He is wearing jeans, with a key chain hanging, and a blue t-shirt with some mass produced design on it, as he pulls the boot of the car down I’m conscious of his biceps, this guy works out. With the chocolate in her pocket, the flask in one hand, tickets in other hand, she exits the alley and heads round corner to cinema. He pulls on his crumpled green jacket, and follows.

Labels: cinema, flask, girl, glasgow, guy, muscle, shoes

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

Two guys and a girl walk along. She is wearing a brown summer dress, with bare arms and shoulders. She shorter of the two guys reaches out, gives her arm a quick light slap. She yelps a little at the contact, turns on the taller guy, who is her boyfriend judging by her reaction. She starts to tell him off, despite his protests, which go ignored. The shorted guys face going red with suppressed laughter. She turns back the direction they are walking and the tall guy punches his friend - thanks!

Labels: boys, girl, glasgow, joke, punch, slap, tease

She is raking through the horror films. She has dark hair, tied up with a red bandana in a bow. She has that fifties/psycho Billy/whatever kind of look. With her hair off her neck I expect to see tattoos, but surprisingly I don’t see any. Nor on her bare arms. Glancing downwards though, I find them. On her feet. One foot has the White Rabbit, the other has a snoozing Mad Hatter, both done in a story book illustration style, fine blue line work. Other tattoos hinted at, disappearing beneath the line of her 3/4 length trousers. Her boyfriend comes over and she flashes him a DVD with enthusiasm, I expect to be a horror film she has found. Instead it is the film of the musical RENT. She oozes enthusiasm to watch it, he seems less than convinced.

Labels: dvd, girl, glasgow, mad hatter, rent, tattoo, white rabbit