Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Just came back from Cafe Pharmacie Esperanza, our favourite writing haunt of late in this fortunately cafe-filled Mile-end neighborhood ... this one a youthful studenty place with mostly crappy art on the walls and marvellous homemade soups and bowls of cafe au lait served by pierced and tatood young waitresses. Choice of music: alternately raw independent hip hop or lost lonely twang twang with reedy voices or summer of luv throwback (Donovan-Beatles etc) or even (today in particular) dustbowl Woody recorded on cracked wheat toast. Style: funky gentle, turquoise, raw blonde wood. A place of tippy yardsale tables & low-slung mid-twentieth C. sofas & nevertheless an outlet at almost every wallside table where the young and the wired can plug in their laptops and do their homework. Where I just wrote a prose poem. & Hey, it looks good!! & my partner wrote a page of her novel. & it looks good too! & as always with new writing, we're letting them idle for now, our respective pieces, to steep in semi-subconsciousness...on to other things...
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