There’s something romant
ic about seeing sweet old people around, don’t you think? Not romantic in the eros sense between a man and a woman *coughs awkwardly into oblivion* but romantic in the literary sense. Like the romantic era. You know what I mean. It’s sweet and old fashioned.
Anyway, today, when I was working the morning shift at the cafe, this sugar-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth sweet old man walked in. He was wearing this chequered suit and doffed his at me and the other wait staff politely. I must admit, I had a bit of a giggle at that sort of old fashioned gesture. I was ended up serving him, so we had a quick exchange over the counter before he went at sat down near the window, unfurling a meticulously folded newspaper from his pocket. I brought him his latte and we got to talking. It turns out that every Sunday morning (it was a Sunday, by the way. I know, kill me) he goes to a different coffee shop to try out the latte and buy a takeaway croissant for his wife (I got him a croissant as the latte. Pardon my forgetfulness, I may not have slept all week …) because she’s really picky about that kind of thing. His wife is, I mean.
It turns out the classily dressed old man was incredibly interesting. He and his wife lived in Italy and France for most of their lives, even though they’re originally from Melbourne. He was in the Alfa Romeo service game, you know, with race cars and stuff, and he’s still in that whole old-fashioned cars industry. I think he said his runs an Alfa Romeo service shop in Melbourne.
It was just so nice talking to him. He was such a polite and endearing old man. I hope I can be that charming (*cough* adorable) when I’m his age.