Welcome to the café shabu. permit me to introduce you to some of our regulars.
starting on my immediate left, ladies and gentlemen, here in café shabu, you’ll
note a poet, a man of words by tr
And yes, that’s a refugee from an unnamed political philosophy, come here to
spread his message of joy and peace amongst us. thank you very much sir. over
here, next to him we see a lady who has
Ed-in a lifestyle of the rich and famous for work with underprivileged and
exceptional children which I am sure makes her very pleased with herself,
ladies and gentlemen. sitting next to her a m
Letters and words and moods. a man who spent most of his life deceiving himself
and now finds himself facing six years in rehabilitation prison and a death
sentence on the outside. sitting next
Im on a banquette, a ballerina. she’s had two grapes, a raisin, and a chicklet,
and she’s full. in fact, she’s been stuffed for years. next to her are two
spinsters knitting their way in and out
Arious predicaments coloure
D by the excesses of their ancestors. and close by them, some surreal painter’s
brooding over the very over-emphasis of colour-violence. violence on the blue
end of the scale. next to them, two
Uty detectives checking each other out. next door to the sugarholics, see them
shivering, see them staring into the distance, see them growing, oh, see them
go comatose. insulin please, maitre d
My immediate right several politicians smiling lizard-like, see them assure
themselves that their status is indeed quo.
Rip up the cheques said the maitre d’. see if I care. I do this for the
company. I’ve got no-one to trust any secrets to but myself. in the basement,
in the vault, in the attic on the walls are
Ictures I take in part-payment for my time. and the waitress reminds you that
in the backroom bathed in red, glowing with the speed of light that reflects
the demands of the living for the dead,
Our angels, a host at your service to meet your every need. so order up, the
waitress said. our great café serves everything.