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| Bar Seddon. San Telmo |
It is cold and dark outside. I reach into my pocket and realize I don’t have much money. My brother looks tired, his eyes red from lack of sleep and a full day of work. Then, we see one of those traditional cafes that abound in this city, and decide to enter. We order coffee and orange juice. A beautiful, melancholic tango floats on the air. I looked around. Fancy tables covered with white and maroon tablecloths. An ample space behind the bar shows waiters cleaning cups and wine glasses. Some people talking on other tables. I imagined being alone, in that table, in front of that cup of coffee. I felt the sadness of the music, I thought about the beauty and coldness of the buildings outside. I imagined the place being filled by words weaved together by its visitors. I sensed the smell of the coffee… Then, it clicked. For an instant, I knew what so many poems and tangos are coming from. Friends, good music, coffee -or wine- combined with a love for words; this mixture has to result on a poem, a song, or at least a deep conversation. I understand why the cafés were favorite places for composers, writers, politicians, and intellectuals.... I get it!
