Cafe on the Street

As I passed I saw a cafe, a cafe on the street, with an open door, and one small round table outside, just big enough for two persons, two glasses of wine, two small iron chairs, a diminutive cafe…shabby, with a faded sign, a dull window, lopsided walls, uneven roof. The smallness of it, the intimacy of it, the humanity of its proportion… A human being feels one can sit in such a cafe even if one’s hair is not perfectly in place and one’s shoes are not shined… One could sit there and feel unique, feel in tune with the world, or out of tune, feel human and open to human emotion… One could sit there if one felt the world too big and too barbaric, and feel once more in a human setting, a proper setting for a human being… Why did I feel warmed by imperfections, discomfort, and patina? Because intense living leaves scars…inner scars, softened, human wear and tear. ~ Anaïs Nin (Szingy Feeling, Németh György Archive)