December 12, 2018

They are unique in comparison, you know, unique next to any other traditional watering hole. It’s the flow you see. From opening to the first screening, slowly and steadily the place fills up and the volume of everything increases. The rumbling of the glasses and the human chatter grows, rises, until reaching its apex.

Then empty.

Most often occurring on the full hour, well and the occasional half an hour, everything dies, and all becomes quite.

No more clinking glasses or quarrelling sounds of forever-seemingly-angry espresso machines.

Waiters and waitresses step out, lean against walls and smoke  cigarettes. Meanwhile on the empty inside, seemingly out from the walls, the smooth, almost pretentious, Chet Baker-ish kind of jazz reappears in the sound system.

Then after a passing while of emptiness a person at the bar, and then another, and another, and the story repeats itself.

New people, same scenario. different film, same soundscape. different drinks, same conversations.

The sounds; q...

December 12, 2018

The pianist, The elderly

lady,  The Artist, The

two guys out of place, 

and the woman on Valium. 

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© hilmar gudjonsson