Impulse In The Afternoon

Brewed coffee, tall, luv, said to the girl.

I settled warmly on a comfortable chair and examined my treasures. One of my life’s deepest regrets is that I read books very late in life. No one ever told me it’s important. I was already in college when one afternoon impulse made me pick up a book I found in a dusty library. I was 17. I’ve never stopped reading since then, playing catching up. And there’s a lot to catch up.

I bought James Joyce’s Dubliners and Mozart, a biography by Maynard Solomon, in Booksale.

Impulse brought my legs to a Jag boutique. Doted on some new designs of tee shirts. But decided I need no new shirts. So glimpsed for the nth time at the woman behind the counter, sighed and got out. Same impulse (or was it a new one) said to my brain, hey, Brain, how about a new notebook and pencils. Said right. So went straight to National Bookstore, passed a P100 below books sign, ran my eyes over the titles. Eyes stopped at Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man for only P99. I had a copy once which I gave to a good friend, bought it for P245. Tempted to buy a new copy but I don’t like buying books I have already read. Put the book back on the shelf, saw Hermione Lee’s Biography of Edith Wharton and bought it.

Found the notebook I was looking, a small cutter, and a set of Mongol 2 pencils. Paid for them at the counter and started hunting for a good coffee shop to spend the afternoon. I found a cozy place called Coffee Dream.

Plain or flavored, Sir? asked the girl.

Plain. Make it extra black, luv.

Sharpened a pencil, read some pages of Joyce and a blurb of Mozart's biography. Put the book back on the table, tasted the brewed, and commenced to write.

Impulse in the afternoon is the dog's bollocks...