meinafrenchcafe

When I was older, feels like it was yesterday, I came across a very interesting case. It was a winter afternoon I was sitting by an electric fireplace in my study. It shot flames, made sounds of crackling fire and it even smelled like burned wood when it was on but it had one thing missing. There was no smoke and it was by design. They eliminated the need of a chimney. Yet I had a chimney. Chimney’s were essential. That was the only way to keep the stories of Santa Claus relevant. They had tried changing the songs and the stories as a solution to eliminate the need of chimneys but I think that is one thing they couldn’t do so easily. They did try and at the end just decided to let the chimneys be for then.

I reminisce about the chimney because that’s where my next client came in from. It was odd but I was used to receiving all kinds of odd cases so it wasn’t anything that surprised me more than a major chord played during Bach’s Mass in B Minor. She clumsily ducked and slipped out of the chimney and looked around till she set her eyes on me.

“Are you looking for something, madam?”

She said without moving. “If you have got any surveillance or recording system you better get your ass off and shut them off. I shall wait while you do it.”

I tried to look surprised and said, “I don’t have any surveillance system in my room. It’s a personal space that you’ve gracefully trespassed.”

“I am not trespassing. It is the only way I could get in without being noticed. Do you recognize this?” She slid out her computer from her pocket and projected a few moving images on the wall.

Well, I most certainly did. Anyone would recognize him. It was Tom Riddle. “Yes,” I said. “Then you know who killed him?” she seemed to ask a question instead of stating the most obvious fact.

That brought a chuckle out of me. You know who killed ‘you know who’, you know. I began to assume the lady had a sense of humour but as soon as I set my eyes on her I saw a questioning expression on her face. She was dead serious.

“All right, why don’t you tell me what do you want me to investigate because clearly you have a case for me.”

“I want you to investigate his death,” she said.

I did not let the chuckle out of me this time. The boy killed him of course. What exactly did she want me to investigate. “Can you please elaborate?” I asked.

“From your reputation I thought you would have figured it out already.” She sounded disappointed.

“It’s a different time, madam. It changes things, time, you must know.” She definitely was someone who has travelled. No novice.

“I know everyone wanted to kill him. The boy was just a tool. I want you to find out who really killed him. And..umm.” She stopped mid-sentence as if she had deviated from her script.

“Why would you be interested in Tom Riddle’s death? I mean, it’s not the most interesting death you’d come across in times like ours.” I had my suspicions about who she could be. However, she looked a little anachronous from my conjecture.

 “I was his lover. I want you to think about this. It means a lot to me. You like these kind of cases and honestly there is no one else who would pursue this case. Everyone is blinded. You on the other hand are not blinded by perceived notions. I want you to find out for me who killed him.”

For the first time I felt she led her guard down. Or maybe not. She was a striking looking woman. She turned and climbed back into the fireplace and shot up the chimney. I think I heard the glass on my table and some paintings on the wall shake after that. She travelled far to meet me. The game, as it seemed, was afoot.

The best possible place to cramp your calf is under water in a swimming pool. It doesn’t help, having a cramp, but it definitely subsides much quicker and hurts-like-hell a lot less in the water. Two and a half hours in the pool. I feel like an aquatic animal. I have gotten much better since last month. I think I can unabashedly put “quick-learner” on my resume. I am just getting into the groove but it’s sad no more swimming in the pool throughout the holiday week.

So, I started work on the recordings. That’s good. Haven’t finished anything yet. I thought I’ll get something done today but the cafe closes at 8 today instead of the usual 10. I guess I don’t like this part of the holidays. Anyhoo, a start can’t be bad. To finishing things up!

 

I am lazy. I am not a special lazy person. I am just an average lazy person who idly wastes a lot of hours of his days. And I like coffee. And I am really lazy. What is sad is I am not the laziest person out there. So, I am not remarkably lazy. I am not even lazy enough to stand out as a lazy person which sucks.

So, one of the things I like to do is kick my own ass and do things. I try to do a lot of things to trick myself into believing that I am doing stuff and not idling my way around the only life I have been given (or gifted? or have I achieved my life by being born? I don’t know, more like I chanced upon it.) For instance, today I was just biking around telling myself, “I am a biker, I bike around and see places. It’s a good thing to do. And I took a nice picture of a nice defunct Fire Station. I’m gonna put it on Instagram. It’s gonna look cool. I’m gonna do this every week. I am gonna be a biker who bikes everyday.” I know, I sound like such a teenager going through his 100th existential crisis situation. Wrong. There is no existential crisis in my case. I am pretty sorted. I know my love of life. I want to be a musician. An artist. I play music. I study in a field related to music. Pretty sorted. And that brings me to face to face to my other personality trait. The Procrastinator. And again a bad example of a procrastinator. I do things, I just don’t pursue them enough to finish them. (Like this post. This line is my fifth edit.) I have a lot of ideas in my head. I have a lot of music to make. Then why am I biking around the city, darn it? Answer me, you procrastinator-self of mine! Well, turns out I am also a coward. A brave person would have answered that. So what do I do instead? I lock my bike and enter a coffee shop (my favourite french bakery Amelie’s, it’s pretty nice. They have loads of paintings hanging on the walls adorned with lots of French things like “bonjour” spelled on the wall by hanging letters in a large font, a Mona Lisa done using a permanent marker?).

So, I enter this café, order my usual almond pudding and coffee, and open my laptop to possibly start work on this recording project I have been working on. Lo’ and behold, the Procrastinator creeps in again. I instead open a text pad and start typing the first line of this diary entry. Now, now, now. I have never blogged in first person. I like to write but I don’t write enough. I haven’t written in a while. Quite a while. I guess that’s pretty evident from the short sentences. Hmm, sounds like a pretty good idea to absolve myself of all the guilt of not doing things. Write about them, gah! What a stupid idea. (Or not). It just costs $5 a day in this cafe. ($4.63 to be precise and, hey, you’ve got a free coffee refill!). I can do this more often. Writing will make me reflect upon the things I should and shouldn’t do. Okay, so, let’s try this. (Off for a swim now.) On a closing note; these days I barely get by, I don’t even try. I don’t even try. Copied from the lyrics of KT Tunstall’s Golden Age)