out and about

It’s raining in Sydney, and the outdoor cafe has become a pedestrian thoroughfare.

A dog is desperate to investigate the bicycle smoker, who is now lying on his back with his phone in the air. The dog has a big, solid head and a low centre of gravity, and his human struggles to rein him in. The dog leaps and prances but in the end he yields, trotting away with a final look of yearning.

A portly, smiling man ambles across the grass in shorts and t-shirt with his phone half-raised, and talks to the bicycle smoker. He looks up and calls out to the terrace, and a full-voiced conversation ensues: loud, good-natured, familiar. When he turns away there’s a bag slung low on his back, black with “adidas” in orange. He wears short white socks and trainers.

A man sits on the grass, smoking a cigarette. His black shoes lie on one side, his straw hat on the other. Beside the hat is a prostrate bicycle. The man has ear buds, a phone, and some kind of cup in his hand. He tips his head back and drinks.

A very old man descends the ramp with a walker, stopping once to realign. He passes right beside me and his eye is fixed straight ahead, but I can almost see it straining to turn in my direction. He’d glance, I think, if only getting down the ramp didn’t require his full attention.

A woman pushes a buggy. One side is a stroller facing forward, containing a little boy with red hair. The other is a pram facing backwards, with its hood up. The little boy lifts his hand and waves at me. I wave back with a grin. His mum smiles.

Two dogs have come to meet their human at the bus stop. One is a fluffy white poodle type who sits looking relaxed. The other is a small black chihuahua with a white chest and tan highlights, who stands looking anxious and sniffs the air.

They’ve parked their other human on a step nearby, with a phone to keep her occupied.

Two small schoolboys are passing on the pedestrian way. One yells “Bye!” and waves towards the terrace, following up with a burst of information I can’t make out out. There’s no response, and the boys continue on their way. Suddenly a child’s voice rings out: “Bye, Harrison!” The boys turn and lift their hands. “Bye!”

A man walks past in cargo pants, grey cap and yellow and grey shirt. He has a bum bag at his waist and a loose, swaggering style of motion. He yawns loudly, and that’s when I notice him.

Two dachshunds are at a cafe, refilling their humans.

Me: I suppose they’re a bit snappy?

Dachshund-carer: No they like people. They’re good with people. It’s big dogs that are the problem.

Me: Little dogs all hate big dogs. And they think they can take them.

Laughter.

Pats, chin rubs, and the smaller dachshund stands both front paws on my foot.

A man hurries across Pittwater Road with a guitar and two dozen cans of beer.

A woman joins the path and another is already on it. The first carries a stuffed-full laptop bag, a cardboard box and a parcel from the post office. The other has a folding chair under one arm and beach towel on her shoulder. The sound is: thongs slapping on concrete.

A woman walks along the pedestrian way, tapping at her pink-cased phone with an index finger. It’s a long message, or maybe a novel. She looks up, just once, and continues typing.

Two girls and their mothers arrive almost together at the music house.

The first girl has wild black hair, long black shorts and a long black t-shirt scored with red. She hands a book to her mother and does this sassy walk to the hand rails, where she swings herself up onto the ramp. As she doubles back, the music in her step seems louder still. She leans down for the book and goes inside.

The second girl has neat brown hair, a yellow top and a prim, pleated skirt. She leaves her mother near the first and climbs sensibly through the hand rails, her book clutched firmly under one arm. She strides past her mother without a glance, then sweeps in through the door without acknowledging the other girl, who is holding it open for her.

The door swings shut.

The mothers leave in different directions. They haven’t spoken.

Two long-skirted women sway in unison, like the trees that shade their Bible information stand.

A middle-aged woman sets up her laptop in the library. She unlocks her phone and looks at it. “Hello?” she says. Every couple of minutes she repeats the question, but no one ever answers.

A young woman catches a toddler in a game of chasing. The toddler falls flat on its face.

High school girl walking past with a friend: Oh my god he’s like, eating the pasta. And I’m like, why are you eating the pasta?

A little golden chihuahua stands in the sun. It looks around. It blinks. It bends to sniff the grass. Suddenly it turns and hurries into the shade, where it zeroes in and lifts its leg against a rubbish bin. Checking the results, it trots from the scene with an air of satisfaction, trailing its human behind it.

A small, curly-haired girl looks fierce behind the wheel of a coin-operated car ride in the Dee Why Grand. Riding shotgun, a pre-toddler senses that things are getting out of control, and stares in mute appeal at their mother.

A young bloke hurries past the row of cafes, tearing open a bag of carrots with his teeth. He pauses, wrestles a carrot free and continues on his way.

Mother with stroller abandons toddler with curls at the top of the stairs, striding away without a backward glance. Toddler with curls takes on the challenging descent alone. Mother with stroller u-turns onto a ramp, and they meet up again at the entrance to Woolworths.

A Noisy Miner joins me, perching on the back of a spare chair and eyeing my plate. It leans forward, poised for action, but rejects my offer to shake hands and moves to another table.

A girl with dreadlocks to her waist is gadding about Dee Why. She sits outside at a cafe. She walks into Woolworths with a friend.

A woman sits on the bus beside a red leather overnight case. From a bag in her lap, she stealthily transfers potato crisps to her mouth.