remote cards

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

My brother missed his flight, so he texted me to see if I wanted to meet him after I was done at work. So I got in, and we got tickets for a film, but still half an hour to kill, so we decide to grab a snack, with intention of  eating properly after the film. Its 18 degrees, the warmest its been in a few weeks now. It’s the school holidays, its home time for a lot of people - so this corner here of Buchanan Street and Sauchiehall  Street is mobbed. A crowed has gathered round the steps at the concert hall, those street dancers doing their robo thing, their breaky thing - I don’t get the fuss, I’ve seen them before, they never seemed that good. We nip into the shop, get a bite, a drink, and come back out, and the crowd has dispersed, mostly. So with the mild weather we decide to sit on the steps, eat, drink, watch the world go by. The Royal Concert hall hasn’t always been here, it was built in my life time, with its three layers of stone steps up to the main entrance, where people always sit around if the weather permits. So we sit there, weaving by the stragglers from the dance crew, by a couple of girls looking around, and various others. Two pairs of police officers come up the stairs, they quiz the groups of kids. They seem to pick out certain kids in particular, from experience, it would seem. The two girls we passed move up from first set of stairs to second set of stairs, they are dressed casually, but are clearly not part of any of the other groups that are sitting around, though they are waiting for something. One of them is a brunette, the other her hair is a lighter colour, both have long hair. The darker haired one decides to make a call, or something, I only half notice, until they move. There is another girl, sitting on the other side of the steps, on the other side of the arc, one I am only half conscious of, out the corner of my eye. The dark haired girl darts towards the other girl, who stands up. Two strangers at an allocated meeting point. The other girl is holding a black rectangle, a wallet, which she hands to the brunette. The brunette produces a small bunch of flowers which she hands over in exchange. The brunette’s friend catching up after a moment, a witness to this curious conversation. And its clear, the girl lost her wallet, got a call from the other girl to say it had been found, and they arranged to meet here, with the flowers as a thank you. We finish our food, look at the time, better get round to the cinema.

Labels: concert hall, exchange, girls, glasgow, wallet