The Sidetrack Cafe. A multi-dimensional, multi-locational bar. Populated by the weird and the wonderful. The price of entry? A distracting conversation and a beverage. You’re in an office at a meeting. Coffee in hand. You start talking about something random for an hour and half. Follow your waiter to your table, because you’ve just stepped into…
The Sidetrack Cafe.
Santa sat at the bar, nursing a bottle of eggnog. His companion was well on his way to being drunk, given the redness of his nose. The barman wondered just how he was going to confiscate that one’s keys.
Across the bar sits a table of detectives, all character assassinating everyone who walks in.
Next to them, side kicks – one spreading lemon curd over one of the many doors to the place.
You see, the Cafe is home to more than just the mildly distracted. Ideas, embodiments, feelings, characters. If there’s enough energy to them – they’ll be in there.
Don’t talk about the vampires. The place is heaving with them.
But also office workers in front of white boards share space with policemen on stake outs, actors back stage, writers talking to themselves. Even dreamers.
And at these close quarters, conversation bleeds over. It’s how ideas get pollinated. Well – one way at least. It kind of goes like this.
Next to the Santa and his reindeer friend, an office shards through the bar. In the office, kicking back, is a guy and his cell phone. The conversation is about beers, bars and … another b word. There’s a pause – just a Santa wobbles on his stool, fixes on the nose and slurs, “It’s all about the stables. Where you are, where we are, stables. That’s where it’s at. I went all wrong with the garage. I see that now.”
Look at the eyes. No – not Santa’s, all bloodshot and blurry – the guy in the office.
“Hey – I’ve just thought of something. Can I call you back?”
And with that focus, the office extension leaves the Cafe.
Then it’s time for Santa to leave. A cab has been called – there’s no way he’s flying tonight.
“We need an idea, Rudolph. Just one. A present to me. We can’t go out like this.”
Rudolph’s nose flashed. It could have been a reply. It could have been a faulty bulb. If could have been the drink.
“We can plant one, Rudolph. That’s what we can do. Find someone, and plant an idea.”
A desperate idea trying to find his way in the night. Metaphorically and physically. Trying to hang on in his twilight years. Who wouldn’t do the same? Maybe they aren’t so different to you and I.
In the Sidetrack Cafe.
You want to know what happens to the guy in the office? What the bleed was?
Come back in a few days. There’s an order to this.
Today’s photo was supplied by Kristian