The sun keeps appearing and disappearing behind fast moving clouds that quickly change their shape. It is a spring afternoon in a neighbourhood where people do not worry about money. (Which does not mean they do not worry, obviously. Their get frightened over their bodies, partners, children, pets, cars, tennis rackets, mothers, affairs, etc.)

Now, this early afternoon, all seems relatively peaceful on the terrace of a local restaurant. Glasses and cutlery glistening in the sun, a party of young people at a small birthday gathering laughing and talking. These people were born into wealth and freedom, they went to good schools and got supported in their early years. They look laid-back and relaxed and who knows what is going on bellow the surface? But that is not the matter of focus now. We shift the camera to another table, where the owner of the restaurant himself is sitting, leaning back, holding a cup of espresso in his hand. Lunches of today have been served, time to pause. He has his greying hair licked in a short ponytail, a well-built upper body with layers of muscles under light brown skin proving a good balanced diet; lots of fresh protein and vegetables give his cells and tissues a sparkle and a glow. He is wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans.

Across from him at the same table a trickster is fidgeting, unable to sit still on his chair. He wears a colourful cap with many pigtails, each ending in a little bell. Why, he is a trickster, right?

“I have it all, all one can wish for,” the restaurant owner says. “I have put this successful business up, regularly getting reviews in renowned culinary columns. It is not easy, man, to pay all the taxes and fees and keep it rolling at different seasons. Rather unpredictable, people are. This is a rich neighbourhood, so people travel all the time and all over the world. Luckily there are elderly among them, those who do not fancy traveling anymore so much and who come to eat here often. Still, some days are slow, you know?

“I know, all is fickly,” the trickster recons and pours more rosé into his glass.

“But okay, in my home village they all think I am a big boss who has made it in Brussels. I go there, all expect I will pay their bills and be all chummy and generous.”

“So it is, we love rich relatives who only come from time to time and can be expected to pay for us,” laughs the Trickster.

“And I have my wife who is making it all beautiful here. Look.” The terrace is shaded by decorative trees and shrubs, their leaves adorned with twinkling lights, pots of culinary herbs and plants with delicate flowers, all show a lot of style stemming from a country where outdoor aesthetics relies on plenty of sunny days and balmy evenings. The dining room inside is equally well furnished. But we are outside for now.

“My daughters are doing well, growing well, I have nothing to complain about. Well, not having a son, perhaps? But I do not want any more children. It is so much responsibility, and money, if one can say.”

“One can say anything. For a man, daughters are a blessing, you know? I do not understand why men fret about having a male heir. It all comes to such a disappointment, combating, competing. You people are so irrational while claiming the very opposite.” The trickster is satisfied with his own contribution to the conversation, satiated, well-humoured and attentive. Just moving all the time, turning his head at every passing human, observing people parking, getting out of cars, and workmen busy with a town house across the street that is under major reconstruction. There is constant movement, despite seaming calmness. He looks at pretty females with a very specific expression in his face.

An elderly couple comes for a late lunch. The waiter takes their order, and the owner stands up and disappears in the kitchen to prepare their food. The couple is sipping mineral water, barely talking, not looking at each other. The man looks slightly depressed, hunched, knuckled, pale. The woman seems more stoic, dressed in a simple expensive cream blouse and black pants, wearing a diamond ring and a few other pieces of fine jewellery.

“People are so messy,” the trickster murmurs. “I do not know why they do not simply acknowledge it and enjoy the messiness. Or get over it, whatever. I do not know. Perhaps I will have a coffee,” he motions to the waiter who comes to him with a super polite expression.

“An expresso and a chocolate cake, please.”

“Of course.”

The owner comes out again, this time with a tiny glass of tea; the elderly couple is being served: a tuna steak with vegetables for the lady, a moussaka for the gentleman. 

He sighs and continues his monologue: “There are days when I feel I cannot go on like this anymore. So boring, so predictable are the days. To order meat and vegetables, to cook, and again, and again. Sometimes, when I finish here, I drive the car around just to avoid going home. I cannot really leave this place for longer, you know? The fixed costs amount to thousands a month, who would pay that? I used to be a cook on a cruise ship back then. And even before, I had my own boat. That was fine, it felt exciting, changing places, coming back only to go away again.”

The trickster is licking melting chocolate from a tiny, elegant spoon.

“Why have you opened a restaurant then? When you knew it would tie you to a place?”

“I found myself a woman, you know? A family needs stability. The girls are going to school, and schooling is compulsory, you know?”

Yes, you people with your institutions, laws and rules that you create only to find yourselves trapped in the systems.

“Noble. So, wait a bit. Children grow, right? This chapter will be over in a few years. They will become women, go out to the world and you are free again, sailor.”

“I will be old by then! I started the family late, need to say? I was over forty when the kids were born. I will be what, almost sixty, when they leave the house? Plus, I am talking about now, now I cannot bear it. I cannot sleep with the same woman every night and come here every day. Understand?”

The waiter is giving a signal to the owner. The two of them are almost friends, come from the same country, speak the same language. The waiter is standing by the guest, the elderly man, taking the plate from his slightly shaky hands. He raises his eyebrows questioningly and the owner gets up from the chair. “Perhaps I made a mistake,” he murmurs. They both disappear inside. The trickster watches the guests, the woman is not eating, she is waiting until the food for her husband will come after whatever correction it needed. The man´s head is bowed, and neither of them looks stressed. They are used to demand the world what they want. A new plate appears – held by the owner himself and the man nods approvingly.

“What happened?” The trickster demands when the owner comes back to the table and to his tea.

“Well, I did not heat it enough, apparently. I was distracted. The deep layers of moussaka were almost cold.”

“Aha. Where did we stop?”

“That I cannot bear this routine anymore.”

“Yes, so I see.” The trickster gulps bitter coffee that mixes nicely with the chocolate taste in his mouth. Why would a sailor settle down and tie himself to a kitchen plank? No, he would never ever understand humans.

“Granddad now happy, ha?” he motions to the guest savouring minced meat, potato and aubergine dish.

“Hope so. I cooked it today in the morning. You have something wise to tell me?” The owner crosses arms over his chest.

“Why would I bother?” The trickster delicately touches his mouth for the last memory of this dessert, stands up and disappears.

The moment he is gone, a woman sitting at the table just behind comes to the focus. She must have been partially hidden by the trickster’s funny cap, and partially by the young olive tree. She has very big eyes and dark complexion, slim long arms. Her dark hair is cut sharp at the neckline, showing off a fine long neck and a beautiful ravine in the middle of it. Ankles crossed elegantly, feet in white sneakers that have become new stilettos these days. Sleeveless red dress. They exchange glances. The woman blushes and even that comes out elegant on her. The owner takes a sharp breath and stands up to ask whatever would make her happy in this afternoon, under the sun in the Atlantic part of the world. All worries and boredom are gone.

So speedily as the trickster himself.

The sun keeps appearing and disappearing behind fast moving clouds that quickly change their shape. It is a spring afternoon in a neighbourhood where people do not worry about money. (Which does not mean they do not worry, obviously. Their get frightened over their bodies, partners, children, pets, cars, tennis rackets, mothers, affairs, etc.)

Now, this early afternoon, all seems relatively peaceful on the terrace of a local restaurant. Glasses and cutlery glistening in the sun, a party of young people at a small birthday gathering laughing and talking. These people were born into wealth and freedom, they went to good schools and got supported in their early years. They look laid-back and relaxed and who knows what is going on bellow the surface? But that is not the matter of focus now. We shift the camera to another table, where the owner of the restaurant himself is sitting, leaning back, holding a cup of espresso in his hand. Lunches of today have been served, time to pause. He has his greying hair licked in a short ponytail, a well-built upper body with layers of muscles under light brown skin proving a good balanced diet; lots of fresh protein and vegetables give his cells and tissues a sparkle and a glow. He is wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans.

Across from him at the table a trickster is fidgeting, unable to sit still on his chair. He wears a colourful cap with many pigtails, each ending in a little bell. Why, he is a trickster, right?

“I have it all, all one can wish for,” the restaurant owner says. “I have put this successful business up, regularly getting reviews in renowned culinary columns. It is not easy, man, to pay all the taxes and fees and keep it rolling at different seasons. Rather unpredictable, people are. This is a rich neighbourhood, so people travel all the time and all over the world. Luckily there are elderly among them, those who do not fancy traveling anymore so much and who come to eat here often. Still, some days are slow, you know?

“I know, all is fickly,” the trickster recons and pours more rosé into his glass.

“But okay, in my home village they all think I am a big boss who has made it in Brussels. I go there, all expect I will pay their bills and be all chummy and generous.”

“So it is, we love rich relatives who only come from time to time and can be expected to pay for us,” laughs the Trickster.

“And I have my wife who is making it all beautiful here. Look.” The terrace is shaded by decorative trees and shrubs, their leaves adorned with twinkling lights, pots of culinary herbs and plants with delicate flowers, all show a lot of style stemming from a country where outdoor aesthetics relies on plenty of sunny days and balmy evenings. The dining room inside is equally well furnished. But we are outside for now.

“My daughters are doing well, growing well, I have nothing to complain about. Well, not having a son, perhaps? But I do not want any more children. It is so much responsibility, and money, if one can say.”

“One can say anything. For a man, daughters are a blessing, you know? I do not understand why men fret about having a male heir. It all comes to such a disappointment, combating, competing. You people are so irrational while claiming the very opposite.” The trickster is satisfied with his own contribution to the conversation, satiated, well-humoured and attentive. Just moving all the time, turning his head at every passing human, observing people parking, getting out of cars, and workmen busy with a town house across the street that is under major reconstruction. There is constant movement, despite seaming calmness. He looks at pretty females with a very specific expression in his face.

An elderly couple comes for a late lunch. The waiter takes their order, and the owner stands up and disappears in the kitchen to prepare their food. The couple is sipping mineral water, barely talking, not looking at each other. The man looks slightly depressed, hunched, knuckled, pale. The woman seems more stoic, dressed in a simple expensive cream blouse and black pants, wearing a diamond ring and a few other pieces of fine jewellery.

“People are so messy,” the trickster murmurs. “I do not know why they do not simply acknowledge it and enjoy the messiness. Or get over it, whatever. I do not know. Perhaps I will have a coffee,” he motions to the waiter who comes to him with a super polite expression.

“An expresso and a chocolate cake, please.”

“Of course.”

The owner comes out again, this time with a tiny glass of tea; the elderly couple is being served: a tuna steak with vegetables for the lady, a moussaka for the gentleman. 

He sighs and continues his monologue: “There are days when I feel I cannot go on like this anymore. So boring, so predictable are the days. To order meat and vegetables, to cook, and again, and again. Sometimes, when I finish here, I drive the car around just to avoid going home. I cannot really leave this place for longer, you know? The fixed costs amount to thousands a month, who would pay that? I used to be a cook on a cruise ship back then. And even before, I had my own boat. That was fine, it felt exciting, changing places, coming back only to go away again.”

The trickster is licking melting chocolate from a tiny, elegant spoon.

“Why have you opened a restaurant then? When you knew it would tie you to a place?”

“I found myself a woman, you know? A family needs stability. The girls are going to school, and schooling is compulsory, you know?”

Yes, you people with your institutions, laws and rules that you create only to find yourselves trapped in the systems.

“Noble. So, wait a bit. Children grow, right? This chapter will be over in a few years. They will become women, go out to the world and you are free again, sailor.”

“I will be old by then! I started the family late, need to say? I was over forty when the kids were born. I will be what, almost sixty, when they leave the house? Plus, I am talking about now, now I cannot bear it. I cannot sleep with the same woman every night and come here every day. Understand?”

The waiter is giving a signal to the owner. The two of them are almost friends, come from the same country, speak the same language. The waiter is standing by the guest, the elderly man, taking the plate from his slightly shaky hands. He raises his eyebrows questioningly and the owner gets up from the chair. “Perhaps I made a mistake,” he murmurs. They both disappear inside. The trickster watches the guests, the woman is not eating, she is waiting until the food for her husband will come after whatever correction it needed. The man´s head is bowed, and neither of them looks stressed. They are used to demand the world what they want. A new plate appears – held by the owner himself and the man nods approvingly.

“What happened?” The trickster demands when the owner comes back to the table and to his tea.

“Well, I did not heat it enough, apparently. I was distracted. The deep layers of moussaka were almost cold.”

“Aha. Where did we stop?”

“That I cannot bear this routine anymore.”

“Yes, so I see.” The trickster gulps bitter coffee that mixes nicely with the chocolate taste in his mouth. Why would a sailor settle down and tie himself to a kitchen plank? No, he would never ever understand humans.

“Granddad now happy, ha?” he motions to the guest savouring minced meat, potato and aubergine dish.

“Hope so. I cooked it today in the morning. You have something wise to tell me?” The owner crosses arms over his chest.

“Why would I bother?” The trickster delicately touches his mouth for the last memory of this dessert, stands up and disappears.

The moment he is gone, a woman sitting at the table just behind comes to the focus. She must have been partially hidden by the trickster’s funny cap, and partially by the young olive tree. She has very big eyes and dark complexion, slim long arms. Her dark hair is cut sharp at the neckline, showing off a fine long neck and a beautiful ravine in the middle of it. Ankles crossed elegantly, feet in white sneakers that have become new stilettos these days. Sleeveless red dress. They exchange glances. The woman blushes and even that comes out elegant on her. The owner takes a sharp breath and stands up to ask whatever would make her happy in this afternoon, under the sun in the Atlantic part of the world. All worries and boredom are gone.

So speedily as the trickster himself.