Café Dwellers

Salutations!

Upon reviewing my past entries, I see that I have unintentionally foreshadowed this one. Can you guess? Does Milk Coffee Bar sound familiar to you? This blog entry will pertain to observations I have made of very peculiar people who I have noticed are constantly making their presence at cafés around the city, typically remaining loyal to one or the other. Since I am most often at Milk, I will be using this one as my primary example.

Photo taken by my dear friend Summer Cazabon.

Perhaps a description of the place would be most appropriate to begin with. It is located not far from the intersection of Chatham and Ouelette. It has a large window located at the front of the room which makes up the majority of that wall. When the weather is agreeable, this window is wide open, allowing for the sun and fresh air to poke their noses through. As night falls, dim and colourful lights create a most ambient atmosphere when coupled with the candles lit on every table. It is equally pleasing to the eye that visual art adorns nearly every surface of the walls. There is a stage at the far end of the room on which musicians and comedians alike are welcome to perform. If such displays are not for you, board games are available upon request, and the coffee is wunderbar. No matter which barista you end up facing, it is guaranteed you will be treated very kindly as they are all quite amiable.

OK. Let us begin. I do not wish to use real names because I did not ask permission to write character profiles of these people even though it is all for admiration's sake. First and foremost, we have Bill. He is an adventurer, always dressed in funky clothing with his chest-hair exposed. His beard is the most majestic thing that I have ever seen with its immense orange-brown frizz. The rest of his hair is usually tied up. His eyes are a bright blue, his good humor seeping out of them and into yours when you converse with him either in English or in French. His tales are unlike many, and I could listen to his nature-related endeavors endlessly. His crafts range from canoes to jaw harps and he is a superb whistler. If you start to hum a tune around him, he will be quick to encourage your song and even improvise lyrics.

Had enough of Bill? We will then move on to Charles. When I first started seeing him around, I thought he was quite the character: He would have a face painted white with black circles around his eyes, a striped dress shirt and overalls. I later found out that he was simply returning from clown school in this fashion. When I first spoke with him, I was excited that our literary interests aligned, from Nietzsche to Sartre. He is Hungarian, and explained to how the language differs greatly from ours in terms of sentence structure. He found out that I spoke French and had me teach him the lyrics from La Vie en Rose. Sometimes, I would find him busking with his banjo in front of the café. In a different way than Bill, his eyes are also something notable, as they are saturated with a sort of ecstatic bewilderment whilst conversing. I have not ran into him in far too long.

Again, taken by Summer Cazabon.
Myself in front of Milk.

These count my most intimate acquaintances in terms of café dwellers. Perhaps dwellers is the wrong word choice for these esoteric individuals, as they are filled to the brim with wanderlust and tracking them down is a challenging task when they're not at Milk. However, there does exist people that I encounter at Milk constantly. There is an ever-smiling plump man with a top hat who brings his pug everywhere. Aesthetically, he reminds me somewhat of a genie. His is the only pup I've seen who has access to the café, but he is never in there long: His owner enjoys a cigarillo with his coffee out front, saluting to passers-by. Next up, we have a tall, lanky boy who dresses in dark yet agreeable clothing. He is more of an introvert than the others. What is remarkable about him is his large old-fashioned tobacco pipe he is usually smoking, and the fact that even if you encounter him apart from the café, he'll surely have one of their coffees in hand. As far as regulars go, these are the ones that have marked me most.

It is not simply for their physical presence that I have taken such an interest to these people. I have had some of the most mind-opening conversations with them. For instance, I was leaning against the window sill nearby an older man who was sitting on the little chairs outside. Together, we watched people walk by and took note of how much eye contact is avoided in our era. People seem to not care for fruitless interactions anymore. We blamed this on the individualism that is rising in the West; we are all taught to be in perpetual competition with those surrounding us, to be in perpetual fear of foreign faces.

Why these seemingly irrelevant people are important is that they find refuge in their cafés and it shows. Because of this, you cannot help but feel the same. Wherever one finds refuge is where one lets their truest colours radiate. Once these folk begin to recognize you and you have your first taste of the loveliness that dwells inside of their minds, you will be changed. I was.

Now that I've gotten all sentimental, I should like to know if any of my readers have had similar experiences. Do share! We shall meet again as our dwelling on Blogspot is not-so-negotiable...