None of us are getting out of here alive, so please stop treating yourself like an afterthought. Eat the delicious food, walk in the sunshine, jump in the ocean. Say the truth you are carrying in your heart like hidden treasure. Be silly, be kind, be weird–there’s no time for anything else.
Might’ve been him, might not. I like to think so, though 🙂
CafĂ© Tabac. This is the old CafĂ© Tabac. Diagonal tongue and groove backed highlight strips in deep red, table tops finished in cork that was always a bit sticky. French Onion soup with a massive chunk of dried bread by way of a crouton. There’re ghosts. It was a communication hub before we had mobile phones. You popped in after a day in town (usually cold and windswept, if not always saturated with rain) and there’d be someone you know with a story to tell.
I have drawn this cafĂ© and occupants a thousand times. I have probably consumed more cups of coffee here than any other cafĂ© anywhere. I just found this picture in an old sketchbook. There’s more to come.
It’s been done up now. They moved the counter/bar to the other side. The walls are bit bare and there’s definitely something lacking. Not knocking the new staff, but at that time, the staff were pretty full on characters and not hiding meekly out the way behind the counter – but somehow, it sort of is still the same Tabac too.