Cafes and Kids

Sometimes bubbles move along in the oil trapped under the transparent skin of a sausage. When this membrane is pierced with a fork the hot fluid spills out and spreads around the bright white ceramic of the plate. It may mix with the assured yellow of a broken egg yolk that once sat like the sun on a hazy day. At other times it laps up against a shore of beans that are reminiscent of pebbles peeking through a larval flow. Tomatoes sit with their brilliant red streaked with lines of burnt carbon next to the inviting glistening bacon. Steam rises from the coffee filled ceramic mug alongside and butter drenched toast waits on a plate all of its own to save it from the potentially ruinous fluids flowing around the major players of the breakfast.

At the other side of the table a smaller plate sits with a fluffy yellow mass of scrambled eggs balancing on a supportive slice of buttered toast. No separate plate needed for this proud square, like atlas assuring the earths safety on his shoulders. A small and brightly coloured rectangular shaped carton sits with a straw peeking out of its top alongside. Conversations range widely. ’Who was the largest and most fierce dinosaur?’ ’Which is the fastest car in the film you watched recently, the red one or the blue one?’ ’How big will I get if I eat all of my eggs and finish my fresh orange juice?’ The headline of the newspaper folded on the table screams of one of the many atrocities that occur on a daily basis.

Outside the wind is lashing rain against the window of the cafe. On the pavements umbrellas strain to keep their owners dry and coat collars are pushed up to protect exposed necks. The roads are filled with passing vehicles, everyone going somewhere in a rush. Sometimes the whole window fills with red as a bus rushes by and all the passengers’ eyes stare vacantly out.

The fast is broken and the warm sustenance sits within readying parent and child for the day ahead. The father pays and both leave not as appreciative as perhaps they should be.