first, you must know these are true expriances at a true cafe, and i hope you enjoy them, i enjoyed the experiance and the telling...

Journal of a Cafe Dweler: 1

“Oranges… Arouse Me”

Ok…so you’ve heard it, and I must clarify first off that I do not have an orange fetish. In fact, the quote was inspired by an old man that I saw in a café…he was merely peeling an orange and looking at it...in this most peculiar way. And so then I thought…I wonder if oranges arouse him? Well for awhile I thought…what does that mean? What is the first thing you think of when you hear…”oranges…arouse me….” I’ve asked many people, and decided that the most obvious of all was that the man has an orange fetish, yes everyone has something that turns them on…but I don’t think it’s the orange itself that arouses one. Then, my most favorite response was: “perhaps, the orange makes him remember a lost lover…” well I think that is part of it...but I think that is also a bit too simple. So, I returned to the café today. And I saw the man, and I did the silliest thing: I bought him a pear. And I sat with this man of some odd 53 years and I asked him… “Do oranges arouse you?” now, bear in mind that I had also come up a theory at this point, I thought...perhaps he is reminded of an ex-lover when he eats these oranges. I thought, maybe the texture, or the smell, or something about them, made him think of this lover. Well…I sat with him and asked him. and the first thing he said, was the he would tell me, because he had noticed me pondering, but only if I would bring him tow plates and a knife. So, I did, I went to the café counter and borrowed them from a lad, who I will tell you of later. When I returned however, he began to cut the pear I had bought him. So while he was cutting this pear, he said to me, that the oranges did not arouse him physically, but in a way…mentally. He told me, he had a wife once, and that she grew oranges. And every morning, he would wake up, and know she had been in the orange grove sometime in the night, because she often smelt of them. He said that she had the most beautiful hands he had ever seen, though they weren’t spectacular. She always bit the nails and there was often a tint to them from the orange oil…but they were soft form peeling to oranges. She died 13 years ago, and now he takes care of her orange grove. It was then that he showed me his hands, and he smiled. His hands were orange…
He then put half the pear slices on my plate and some on his, and he took out the most beautiful thing I had seen, out of his bag. An orange, *smile* and it sounds odd, but...he asked me to share it with him. And I did, and he told me more stories about his wife. He let me peel the orange. And…it made my hands yellow. I will always be happy to the man who shared his orange with me. Because he proved that…love exists beyond just death. Because his wife put a piece of her into every orange all those years, when she would visit them in the night. And now…he has her, in every orange he eats, and smells, and peels.

awhhh, that is so sweet, I cant wait to read more, I love watching people to see what they do.

good story hope to see more!

I agree, I like that story. The fact that it's true is awesome. You don't find those kinds of stories in real life....I hope you post more, I really like that.

thank you! i'l be posting more tomarow...

it's great mel.cant wait until tomorroe

journal of a cafe dweler: 2

“You don’t know I love you…”

I think that’s what she thinks when she hands him the three dollars and twenty three cents, and then slips the five dollar bill into his tip jar, which is much more than she paid for the drink. She’s pretty...the woman. With auburn hair, its kind of orange actually. But anyway…she has this way of looking at him, the man at the counter…and its kind of like she’s pleading for him to say something. But he never does, except the usual casualties. He does however…do the silliest thing with his mouth. Now that sounds odd, but its this curve of the lips that I know he is telling her: “you don’t know it but I know everything about you and I know that in this 4 minutes and 32 seconds…we are the closest beings on this earth…because I want you.” And then, just as quick their exchange Is over and the woman with the anklet charm is walking away, but not before she has written her phone number on the five dollar bill. But he never notices because he doesn’t want her to know that he fancies her as well.
I watch this exchange everyday, but one day I finally decided to ask him, the man at the counter…I asked him why he does that thing with his mouth when he sees her. And he just looks at me and wonders aloud how I know he does…how can I catch it when she cannot. And I laugh and just slip him a picture. I took it a week ago when they weren’t looking…its of her, at the table by the window, and she is looking directly at him…with a look…that I don’t think anyone could mistake. I hand him the picture and just walk away. Two days ago, I caught them on my way into the café, they were kissing. It made me smile…because I knew they were in love and she was just waiting for him. now they act like they always did, but I know that he told her about me, the odd duck at corner counter…I know because someone put a note on my counter and it was written in a wonderfully beautiful print…it said: “Thank you…he didn’t know I loved him until you.”
It’s terribly romantic the things in this café…it makes me wonder why in this small corner of nowhere…magnificent things happen. It also makes me wonder, if I sit here long enough…someone will want me? Can that happen in this silly French café? It’s happened for so many others…then I shrug off the thought and eat my pear, and drink my coffee and watch as the two at the counter, pretend to go about their daily things…but I know he is picking her up for dinner after work.

journal of a cafe dweler: 3

“Sometimes…its not meant to happen.”

I wonder if that’s what the man’s woman told her as he left her. I don’t know, but as I sit and watch the man who has come into the café for nearly a year…I get sad. I remember him coming in with his wife and daughter on Sundays. Their getting a divorce now. His lawyer is a middle aged balding man and I really don’t like him. I think he is rude. He spilt his latte once, and just left it to my friend at the counter to clean up. I’m not sure why…but this is rude to me. Anyway…the man and his wife are getting a divorce, and I’m not sure why, but from the way he cries when he talks about her to his lawyer…I’m rather certain that she is leaving him.
It makes me wonder if I will be like that. Will I be divorced? Will he leave me or I leave him? or…will I be the cynical rude lawyer? I hope I’m none of these…then suddenly I’m having a fantasy, and in it, the man, his name is Johnathan, and his wife, her name is Scartette are back together. No wait…he is sitting and he is crying again, but she walks in, stunning really in a white sundress and yellow shoes with white dots; anyway, she comes in and says in her pretty voice that makes me think of small silver bells,. She says: “Johnathan! Please stop crying...I love you and always will.” And then I lay my hand across his cheek and it’s a bit stubble because of the stress and his long hours at work; he hasn’t had time to shave this morning; and I just look at him. then suddenly…everything is better and he stands and we kiss because we know that there is no need for lawyers or shared custody of the kid, because we’re going to be together forever.
Suddenly…someone comes in the door and I’m shook out of my silly dream. And the man is no longer Johnathan, and I am no longer Scarlette. Instead the lawyer is trying to get him to calm down as he tells him that the wife wants full custody of Jennifer(that’s the daughters name). its kind of sad…I wish that my dream could be how it really works out…

awhh, they are both really cute. Well not so much the second on but the fantasy in the second one is cute... You really see all this everyday?? That is amazeing I wish I were that blessed and you are in France, that must be awesome or am I just confused?? Idk They were both really awesome!!

lol, its a local french cafe but im not in france, and yes..i really do witness all of tihs. i think everyone could see such things..theyre just too busy to notice...

Journal of a Cafe Dweler: 4

“you don’t notice me noticing you…just like no one notices you noticing them.”

Alright…so today I met a boy. He is prettier than I…or maybe that’s just because he has paler skin. Anyway...he stood behind me while I was thinking about the man and his wife. And he said…well his voice made me think of raspberry syrup...when it spills on your hand and just feels sooo good. Um...yes, and so he stood behind me and he said, even before I really saw him: “I saw what you did with the dude(yes he really said dude!) at the counter and the woman…why did you do that?” and I didn’t even turn around, though I wondered briefly if he could smell the flower shampoo of my hair…or, even worse if I smelt like something else…maybe my perfume I bought at victories secret? Or something unpleasant? I wonder if my perfume and hair smell unpleasant to him?! anyway, I said, before I even saw him: “how do you know what I did? I’ve never seen you here before…”
He just asked if he could sit at my table and he told me: “you don’t notice me noticing you…just like no one notices you noticing them. So I sit and I watch the people…just like you do.” He has a sunflower painted his bag. I wonder if he painted it there, it looks new. I wonder if he’s an artist…I’m sure he is, after all he is prettier than me. I just think and then he asks if he can sit there with me tomarow and we can share our thought on the others in the café. I think and wonder out loud: “what will you eat?” then he says, well he says what I eat. That he will have a slice of chocolate cake and a cup of Camilla tea. I look at him and I wonder out loud as well(I’m doing that a lot lately): “are you saying that on purpose?” but then…how can he? I eat everyday in private with Monsieur Duprier…eating in front of others makes me feel like I have hives…he just looks at me. I wonder if he is insane for a moment. Now I think he is going to sit with me tomarow. I wonder if I should wear a different perfume? Did I smell unpleasant to him? I should have asked…I wonder briefly just how much like me he really is…

I was allways one to watch but if someone was watching me I would be freaked out.