People Watching Part 1 - Rat trap

When the yellow street lights have spluttered awake and the screaming and crying from the high-rise blocks has died away, I often go walking the streets of Downtown, coat buttoned against the cold looking for haunts to go people watching.

It all started sometime in ’78. It was a Saturday and I remember there being a strange atmosphere, a palpable tension in the air that told me there was gonna be trouble. By 8 o'clock I was bored and thinking there's got to be more, I headed for my favourite Italian café, you know the one - by the meat factory, just past the gasworks? After the lights at the crossing showed ‘walk’ I skipped across the street, ducking under the faded plastic awning and into the café. It was warm and steamy inside and after ordering, I sat in the far corner, interested to see whether the Saturday night city beat could reach this side of town or whether hope really did bite the dust behind Boomtown’s closed doors.

It wasn’t long before my attention settled on a young couple sat by the door. He wore a bright suit and looked like he was heading for the right side of town. She looked as if she was moved by a more homely beat. I couldn’t help thinking that the coffee she was nursing was a windfall - only paid for by digging deep in the pockets of her heavy winter coat.

As I watched I caught snippets of their conversation. He tended to mumble into his coffee – perhaps he was a little drunk, but her shrill voice carried further through the steamy air. She was pissed off with everyone telling her what to do and about having to follow rules. She’d been watching Top of the Pops earlier, until her mum and dad started fighting and it was clear she wanted to get out of school and build a life of her own. I could almost see the pressure lifting from her shoulders as she was unburdening herself but he was growing more agitated until, without warning he stood up, shouted something about being trapped and rushed out into the night. She called after him – ‘Billy’ - but he was long gone. Deflated and alone, she finished her coffee before slipping out of the café onto the rain-sodden street.

Drama over, I started to think about heading home myself but couldn’t help noticing a tall, tousle-haired man who had also been watching the young couple. He closed his note book, fished out some coins which he left on the table and made for the exit…. somehow he looked familiar.

I often go back to that café, maybe out of concern for that young couple but I’ve never seen them again. Whatever, the coffee is good and people watching helps pass away the long winter evenings. Maybe I’ll get round to sharing more of my people watching stories with my fellow citizens of Boomtown?