Messages in the wall

Every time I go to Lanza’s, I sit in the same seat.?

It’s in the third row of tables – at the four-top that has a perfectly placed outlet, next to the board game shelf.?

Obviously, I always face the door, as any seasoned serial people-watcher would do.?

I’ve frequented this spot for two years straight, arriving right at 7:00 am just to secure my table.?

Despite my habitual visits, today I noticed something new.

Running alongside the wall was a small tube –?an “electrical conduit” if we want to get technical. It’s painted the same sleepy gray as the chipping walls, easily camouflaging into the monotonous tones of the slanted substructure. Nestled in the modest gap between the tubing and brick wall were various folded-up papers.?

I instinctively grabbed one – a bright orange, crumbled index card.?

“Hey, you’re doing great.”

Instant. Serotonin.

One by one, I read each message from the wall. It was addictive – I was engrossed by the silly stories, life advice and encouraging messages of each composition of pen strokes.

Anonymous and serene, the wall delicately burst with life.

The words of strangers gave the wall a consciousness. Rather than a dull structure that merely cocooned preoccupied coffee-connoisseurs, the walls exuded a collective voice. There was a mutual agreement whispered between every brick to preserve the stories of past visitors and share them with newcomers, creating a connective tissue of universal existence.?

Easily overlooked but intrinsically present, the indiscreet notes are a shared heart.?

Slow down.?Look up.?Find the messages in the wall.