Last Saturday

“Cappucino?” bellows the waiter. Happy bustle is the norm and cool fog surrounds everything with a gentle ambience. Spoons rattle softly and a delicate aroma of flowers fills in the sensory cracks. It is a Saturday morning utopia, almost. There is only one encroachment to my bliss.

A withered sidewalk performer seems set on serenading us with his piercingly irritating penny whistle. I’m tempted to pay the old man off; $10 is more than he deserves, but serenity is worth at least that much. Across the courtyard some pretty Asian girls are playing violins and their melodies mix much better with my coffee and the aromatic breeze than the shriek of the penny whistle hack.

Competition is great in the open market of economy but such a policy ends in sonic havoc when applied to sidewalk music (both of groups play on forcefully, and I’m caught in the middle!). Though on second thought, if the violins hadn’t showed up I’d be stuck with whistle man–perhaps competition is good (I just hope someone realizes they’ve lost sooner rather than later).

Drinking my coffee now, searching for a table nearer the violins, thinking how appropriate casting an unapproving stare or two towards the whistle player would be; perhaps if I buy the whistler some coffee he’ll shut up and drink it.

“Waiter?…”