Devastation of Losing a Discarded Friend

I haven’t been there recently. They sold the best coffee in town. For many years we would go there once or twice a day. Coffee and a swirly-whirly (Danish Pastry) or a Five-fifty-five (Two coffees and a hot seafood wrap: not for me, for he, whose tastes sometimes allude me) or on hungover days, coffee and a tuna-cheese melt. When they had it, only occasionally, lemon and ginger cake, which is nearly the best cake in the world ever, second only to my Mum’s cheesecake. It was run by Linda and Ray, who was the most talented whistler, he riffed and trilled along with the radio, enhancing many a pop song. In the old days comically miserable Dan worked there who was full of strange stories and an almost friend. I threw a bit of business their way when I could. It was so unpretentious, so  Ronseal, so comfortable. Then abruptly Mr didn’t want to go there anymore. I would meet friends there but our day-to-day places were different. It remained special to me, nostalgic. I wanted to go there on my birthday but Mr thought it wasn’t special enough so we didn’t. 

I walked past it tonight and Centro is now Nicola’s, the glass display counter replaced by a bar, the back wall now a funky blackboard. I felt a wave of dismay, of devastation. Centro, I’m sorry I stopped visiting, you were a fond chapter, a bit of sense in the pomposity of this city.