I just love these spaces.
Forget expensive Instagram worthy post-industrial chic. A simple trailer converted into a coffee shop.
An eclectic bunch of rescued chairs. A couple of milk crates with cushions. Some old teapots planted out with succulents. A sunny spot. Perfect.
Kelly chose a chai tea. I had an Earl Grey. We sat and chatted as groups of people came and went. A couple of older gentlemen next to us with long wild funky grey beards and thick European accents unpacked Wittgenstein and Nietzsche. In front, there was a discussion about renewable energy and the potential to distil your own alcohol to fuel cars. Or perhaps bugger it just go electric.
The owner was chatting unhurriedly to his customers about how he took his girlfriend out to a local restaurant last night and ordered brains as he thought that might be something neat to try, and it turns out that everything on the menu was brains, and the waiter was a zombie, and everyone there were zombies, and it was some sort of walking dead theme night and he and his girlfriend were the only un-dead in the entire place.
Or at least that’s the best as I could make of it as it filtered across through waves of Wittgenstein and descriptions of alcohol distillation equipment.
I could sit here and listen for ever.