The Writers' Circle

I didn't look up from my paper as the bell above the door rang. I can see shadow of whoever's entered the café from the corner of my eye but I don't acknowledge them. Its not that the article I'm reading is very interesting to be honest, its just that I don't feel the need for conversation, not right now, and eye contact usually leads to it. 
I hear them scraping of a chair as they unceremoniously drag it from below the table before hanging their dripping wet coat over the back of it. I guess it's a man by the way they cough. It's either that, or it's a woman on hormone tablets.
The paper holds nothing really worth my attention, not with the state of the world at the moment. It's filled with debt, death or politics, plastered neatly in-between the adverts for hair products or electronic goods. 
The newsmen have gone lazy, too lazy if you ask me. Not like the old days. A reporter had to work hard for his money and actually write a story worth reading back then. Now its all about gossip and nipples.
Now don't get me wrong. The odd good story sometimes catches my eye, you know the ones. How Mr B Standish of somewhere or other was finally reunited with his long lost sister in the local Bingo hall. After thirty years apart, they met again when they both won the major prize. Or how Mr J Kennedy sold an old painting he'd found tucked away in his loft for three million pounds. 
But today it seems to be all rubbish. How unemployment was on the up again as the banks are on their way down. Even the page three girl seemed saggy today, no effort.
I sip my coffee as the newcomer passes me on their way to the counter. As he stands patiently waiting to be served he rhythmically taps his fingers on the worktop in time with the music on the radio. 
Now don't get me started on the music of today. Its all that synthesised crap nowadays. Those irritating voices that manage to grate on your nerves two seconds after the song starts. All they seem to sing about is sex, drugs and violence. It's not like the music I grew up with. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not that old or anything. Buddy Holly or The Shadows played their music way before I was born. No. My music was the 80's. When Nick Kershaw's 'Wild Horses' stirred your soul, or Pat Benetar's 'Love is a battlefield' filled the airwaves. Now that was real music. Music that made you move, and with lyrics that actually told a story.
The man behind me sighs, obviously bored already of waiting to be served, and that's another thing. People today seem to have no patience. Life flashes passed them so fast that they miss it half the time. Everyone seems so eager to be somewhere else, not like it was when I was a kid. We used to sit still looking at the radio for hours. 
I can hear him moaning. Muttering to himself before he finally gives up waiting. He grabs his coat as he storms past me, slams the door behind him as he goes, leaving me thankfully alone once more with my paper.
I need a fag, but the rains coming down so heavy outside now its bouncing off the pavement and I can't be bothered getting wet. God that's a stupid law, not letting you smoke indoors. If this was my café I'd let people smoke in here and damn the law to stop me. People should be allowed to do what they liked more, I don't mean things like murder or rape, oh no that need to be controlled, serious crimes need serious punishment. 
But little things that don't really do anyone any harm should be ignored. Secondary smoking is a myth, it's like global warming and fair politics. It's just something the government boffins have made up to add another level of control into our already controlled lives. It's just one more way for them to tax us and keep us down. 
The bell rings again and a young woman walks in talking on her mobile phone. She has a nice voice, but her foul potty mouth ruins the image and every other word is a swear word. I can hear her talking about her boyfriends' antics in the bedroom, or the lack of it by the sounds of it. How he doesn't have the slightest idea what to do or when to do it. She laughs at something her friend said to her, calling her a dirty bitch as she walks up to stand at the counter. 
She's wearing nice perfume though, masked by the smell of stale cigarette smoke, but still strong enough to make me look up at her. Her short skirt and knee high boots seem to be the fashion nowadays. I'm not complaining though, oh no. As far as I'm concerned there should be more legs and arse on show. Oh, but not for fat chicks, or ugly ones come to that. But for a certain group, it should be law. 
She's not actually bad looking. If she scraped the ton of makeup off that she's caked her face with. With her cute button nose, and deep blue eyes she's certainly quite a stunner. Her blonde hair that she's plaited into a pigtail that runs down her back looks very hot. 
She chews her gum and talks on her phone while she waits until she spots me looking at her and turns around. I can hear her telling her friend that there's a perverts watching her. I suppose I should object to that, but the fact that she's turned her back to me just gives me something else to look at instead. It's a nice arse too. 
I try to ignore her conversation as I turn back to my paper, but she's explaining now what he does to her in intimate details. Step by step, blow by blow actions. The idea of having a private conversation seems to be lost on her as she talks about his bloody girth and stamina.
In my day. Before all these mobile phones became the trend, people talked quietly, in hushed voices, as though you sat in a library. You respected other people around you, not like today. Respect died a long time ago, along with common sense and community pride. 
People are just to lazy now, so very, very lazy, and it's a shame. People just don't seem to want to get involved. Where are all the scouts knocking on your door so they can mow your lawn for twenty pence? Men don't hold doors open for ladies anymore, not that you can spot an real lady nowadays but you get what I mean. Now its all to simple.
We had a lot less when I was a kid, but we valued it more. Everything seems to be throw away now. To be tossed into the gutter when you finish with it, just adding more rubbish for our future generations to have to deal with.
I sip my coffee before turning the page, scanning over my horoscope for today before moving onto the cartoons. None of them look funny, but its easy reading and it passes the time. The girl swears about the poor service, shouting behind the counter before storming out of the shop. She spits her gum outside the door before she pulls a fresh smoke from her pocket and lights it up. The door slowly closes, creaks on its hinges before clicking back into place. 
I check my watch and quickly finish my coffee. Folding the paper carefully back together I wiped the table down before slipping it back into the rack, and a minute later the bell rings again.
"Thanks for watching the café for me Bob." The owner smiles at me. "I told you it'd be only for half an hour. Did you have any problems?"
"None at all" I reply "It's been dead in here, must be the bad weather." I put the cup back behind the counter. "Don't get me started on the people of today, they just don't seem to have the get up and go anymore do they?".