[Last modified: October, 28 2024 12:39 PM]
The Grafton Arms near UCL felt suspended in a quiet that doesn’t quite fit central London. It was nearly empty, with only a few murmurs passing between the bartender and a lone staff member. In the corner sat an older man – I would guess to be about mid-70s – with a pint glass instead of a companion. His shoulders slumped slightly as he leaned over his phone, scrolling slowly through video after video.
Every now and then, he paused, his face breaking into a slight grin or giving a faint snort as if something on the screen caught him off guard. The expressions were brief, flashes of interest that passed almost as soon as they appeared. He rarely sipped his beer, the pint barely inching toward empty. It felt like the drink was more of an excuse to be in public than to actually drink. It wasn’t even noon to be fair.
A brief nod passed between him and the bartender when their eyes met, signaling familiarity without words. Then he returned to his screen, resuming his scrolling. His thumb moved in a steady rhythm, like he was slowly leafing through a magazine, intent but relaxed.
Once, he set his phone down entirely, leaning back as if he’d forgotten for a moment where he was. His eyes settled somewhere in the middle distance, as though he was watching something only he could see. After a few beats, he straightened, picked the phone back up, and resumed scrolling with the same steady rhythm. It was like falling back into an old routine.
The quiet around him and his slow, repetitive motions made me think this was his weekly, maybe daily, routine. I wondered if he enjoyed it or he was just passing the time. In the nearly empty pub, his presence seemed to set the tone, filling the quiet with a subtle, almost comforting rhythm. The pint glass remained mostly full, like his mind, turning over familiar thoughts, or maybe just finding contentment in the simplicity of the moment.