Walter Chesterton

Cafe Terrace by Night

The brilliant golden hue created by the oil lamps littering the stone walls was a welcome sight to his tired eyes. Throughout the course of the day his senses had only been host to people and events that had worn him out. Waiting had worn him out. Harry would romanticise about this kind of day when he was fighting in the war. He would dream about sitting down in a street café only to spend the whole day doing nothing but people watching, eating and relaxing with a good book. Unfortunately, much like the rock formation that has no place in a field of striking flowers, so too did he feel as out of place in the modern world. He would tell himself when he was most frightened by the deafening bomb blasts and the drilling machine gun fire that if he made it through to the end of the conflict heaven would be sitting here in peace and quiet. Unfortunately, peace and quiet had been replaced by the chaos of a busy street and the polite “how do you do” he longed for was traded in for a less than courteous “Sortez de ma voie”. The world had changed from a community of family into a swarm of angry strangers.