Greasy Spoon

I decided to go to the café this morning. A quiet place at the end of a row of shops, you could smell the chip fat and bacon frying before you entered. I picked a table at the back with only one chair so as to not be disturbed. They had those plastic tables and chairs bolted to the floor so you couldn’t move them around. I got out my notepad and waited.

Within a few minutes a couple of builders came in and sat at a table in the opposite corner. I strained to hear what they were saying and was surprised that every grunt and growl carried to me as if I was sitting at the table with them.

“A breakfast special and a brew, cheers love”

“Me too but with extra beans, ta. You see that bird walk past earlier?”

“nah, but I tell you what, m’ fist hurts loads from last night. Did you see him hit the deck. There was blood everywhere. It was great.” A grimace swept across his face. I heard his accomplice snort with laughter.

In the background other sounds started to permeate my brain, sausages sizzling on the grill, water bubbling in the kettle, a baby crying out, a women cackling. I was suddenly surrounded by a cacophony of noise that overran my senses, cars hooted, sirens blared, phones rang, microwaves beeped. My vision started to blur and my heart started to race. I stumbled from my chair, across the café, and out into the street in a bid for air. I filled my lungs and breathed out slowly. With a cold sweat upon by brow I trudged home.