Brooke Forbes

Within a Mparntwe cafe, there are fragments of coffee conversations floating through the air.

“Keep hold of this one”

One young woman says to the other. 

“I reckon you would”

One middle aged man says to the other.

“The sky’s the limit”

One mother says to her son. 

The words fly across the room, scattering and smattering, echoes of morning civility. 

It’s a different step on the outside. 

Todd St Mall is building in capacity, and there’s those who sit and listen and those who bustle. 

A woman dressed in blue and white cotton darts from on side of the road to the other, a scarf left flapping in the wind. 

A man wanders through the streets chanting in language, a loud presence, occupying space with dominance. 

A child runs, hides, plays peek-a-boo with an unsuspecting leg. 

I would say it’s a melting pot, but we know it’s liquid gold, on a Sunday, stirring into life. 

The inside noises and the outside movement merge, eventually, beckoning us forward, to the start of a lazy day.