Confessions of a Cafe Voyeur

First post!

For the past three-odd weeks, I've been without Internet at my apartment. Due to my nomadic tendencies, I'm hesitant to set up anything with even remote echoes of permanence... phone lines and Internet hook-ups included. Cellies and stolen wireless work for me, thanks.

However, my ISP (aka my neighbour Jen) has recently moved, taking with her a strong and easily-accessible wireless signal. After a three-second argument with myself (to Eastlink or not to Eastlink?) I decided to keep the ties cut and picked out a nearby wireless cafe to park myself. This has grown into a daily ritual, and one which is good for more reasons than simply the obvious one of making me shower and dress... it satisfies my voyeuristic tendencies in a way that Slice never can.

I've seen first dates, writers' meetings (some local authors hold them here on a weekly basis) and an endless parade of people grabbing 4 PM pick-me-ups. This evening I'm sharing a table with a guy marking a stack of papers on... genetics. Seriously. The initials DNA keep cropping up, although I'm trying not to be too obvious in my leering. There are three other people here alone with either their books or their laptops; I wonder how many people are doing the same thing that I am, and how many books are just props in the whole facade.