Sometimes I think real life <br />only takes place in cafes, <br />those reflective islands <br />in the middle of the stream <br />where living, we watch life go by. <br /> <br />Could we have all our meals in cafes? <br />Do some job there between meals— <br />stringing beads, stuffing envelopes, <br />writing novels? Then, when it's dark, <br />the way the clerk in my Indian hotel <br />put a mat on his desk for the night, <br />we could put a mat on our table and sleep. <br /> <br />Ah, but then a cafe would be home. <br />Lots of people live <br />on the sidewalk already, <br />and most of them don't like it. <br /> <br />Maybe what we need then is a home, <br />and a home away from home, too.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cafes/
