70 in a 30

I had just sat down when he approached, fast, weaving between tables and chairs set out on the pavement outside the cafe. The last thing I hoped he'd do was stop but then he just crashed in front of me, right there, in the chair opposite. I even had my newspaper positioned on the table next to my latte, both waiting to be enjoyed, in peace. Sitting there is normally such a pleasure, occasionally glancing around at the tables to either side, their occupants doing their own thing, all of us at the same pace, all in our own space. Now all that was shattered.

I couldn't help myself but look up, the shock to the chair he had chosen to drop into was such that it seemed to shake the very paving slabs it rested on. And my glance was enough, our eyes met and he spoke, as if invited to do so by that most fleeting of contacts. The journey through my newspaper was now delayed. I took a last look at it, longingly, as if by doing so would somehow allow me to simply keep going. But his impact was too great for that and the influence of his presence too strong, and when he spoke it was obvious I was to be held up.

“Now that's a proper bike”, he said, looking at my Triumph Bonneville parked nearby. I nodded in recognition. He was right, it is a great motorcycle, not one of the old ones but a new model.

“Never really been into bikes”, he went on. “Cars, that's me. And speed, I love it. Acceleration, it's the thrill of acceleration I love. Always have. I've had loads of cars. Jags, sports cars, Mercs. I love Mercs, got one now.

“It's over there, my Merc. I had a bike once, only one I had. I was hammering along, had me mate on the back and some bloke pulled out in front of us. I locked up and ended up in a ditch, my mate went over the top and was thrown only knows how far. We weren't that bad, considering. But that was ages ago. I'm seventy, you know; and I've had a few motors, I can tell you.

“My young niece sometimes takes me out in her car. I recon my reactions are better than hers, as good as when I was thirty. She's terrible. She crawls along. She's got one of those electric things that uses its engine only when there's not enough left in the batteries. Useless, wouldn't go near one. My mate said he had the car for me, a three litre diesel, does a hundred and thirty. Wouldn't touch it; petrol, that's the only one for me, don't care about the cost, don't care what it does to the gallon.

“Only had one serious crash in all the years I've been driving – went into the back of a lorry and had to be cut out. That was years ago. You've got to have your wits about you these days. I had some bloke in front of me last year not pull away at some lights. Made me hit him from behind, did the front grill in. Not cheap on a Merc, I can tell you. It's like in those supermarket car parks, twice I've been hit. Once it was by someone pulling out of a space right in front of me, the other by a car speeding along as I was leaving a parking space. They don't look”.

And with that he spotted someone approaching. They hooked up together and left soon after, with only the briefest of nods in my direction. People were getting up from the tables around me, folding their newspapers in preparation to leave. In no time, the cafe emptied and the pavement flowed.