Nightglow Window

Paul

Morning in Torquay, February 2002. Sun still not up as I search the streets for a cup of coffee, the wind strong from the Bass Strait on this cool Australian morning.

The parade of dark windows a steady drip of disappointment as I kick down sidestreets, looking.

Finally, near the point of giving up, sounds of life.

A bakery, light on in the back room. A rogue shadow looming my way. A sweaty, beefy man. Hands like dinner plates. "Name's Pawwl," he says, inviting me in. I carefully shake his hand, still feeling awkward. He's mixing meat pies, but saw me in the window. Bakery won't open for a hour yet. The smell of muffins in the oven. The room, hot.

He makes me cup after cup of instant coffee as we talk about life along the south coast, the bakery, the 9/11 attacks. "Americans can be arrogant dickheads, but no one deserves that," he says with a steady gaze, suddenly serious. "A true shame."

I wonder if he's still there, welcoming early risers with free coffee and a that easy laugh?




The Great Ocean Road.