The Urban Soup (Part VII)

The posters and rags of Kensington market are both photogenic and literature-genic. But every once in a while, the good old angry boys crawl out of the woodwork to leave me muttering "jackass..." under my breath. Just today two of them were shouting at each other and then began to Judo-fight in a very stylized manner. Or so I think. The whole time the other good old boys stood around in their leather under their awnings in front of the neon signs making quips of sorts or at least chuckling at their expense. One of the combatants has a permanent job unloading the perennial delivery vehicle at one of our many rotten fruit shops; the other is a street Reggae vendor. Their friends sometimes throw untethered bicycles directly onto the street. It's the drugs, I guess. And still I haven't found anyone to accompany me while I sit in their bar. In their great victory they manage to drown out every muser on the sidewalk, every hackey-sack, every sarong, every fluttering rainbow flag, every "(with respect) fuck the police" graffittied onto a piece of plywood. And they'll be Judo-fighting for a while, until someone falls. And you can't break your fall on the concrete. Trust me.

I suppose spending a majority of my spare time at the same coffee shop would bring about these results. I can't read there any more. I keep getting drawn into conversations about New Criticism which I have to bullshit my way through, or greeted by bona fide cowboys, or chuckling with the dude from the synagogue down the street, or being company to at least two of the baristas on their break. This is not unwelcome. And what did I expect? But am I ready to make the mythical transition from the eavesdroppin peaple-watcher and people-listener to the "I couldn't help overhearing" guy? And where will someone like me read his pithy plays or his magazines? Where will I complete the crosswords from the weekly rags? Where else can the din keep me awake even when I want to surrender? Just a little bit of uncalled-for bitchery.

Consider: "We learn from history that we learn nothing from history."