An Art Gallery As a Coffee Shop

The businessman left the venue matcha in hand, it was a bright day, a little windy but an element of warmth had returned only yesterday to the city microclimate. Looking at the google map it gave him directions to a location just below Oxford Street and to the west of Regent Street in the heart of Mayfair. He recognised the end location and decided to just amble in the general direction, rather than use the map verbatim.

Marylebone was busy, shoppers mixed with business people, lots of activity building work seemed to be going on where he looked to everyone's annoyance. The noise, banging and drilling, tortured the people working in the boutiques. He walked through the Marylebone lanes, people smoking sat in doorways, whist Rolly Royces dropped jewelled ladies and blue-suited gentlemen for brunch.

The happy businessman walked east along Wigmore Street, wondering along he looked into the expensive shops checking out the prices on the tiny cards by the items. He checked out the prices of the kitchens and realised that they cost as much as he paid for his Farringdon flat, back in the day. He crossed the road into Cavendish Square the trees towered up far higher than the grand building that’s surrounded them. He created in the fresh air, workmen and office workers sat on the bench enjoying some time to take a break.

He continued down a side street and onto Oxford Street, he hit a wall of people with shopping bags. A recruitment agent in a skirt, blazer and cheap high heels almost ran into him as she shouted to a client about the ‘ideal candidate’, the businessman got off the intensely busy shopping strip, quickly headed into Mayfair where the vibe was altogether different.

He came to the address, the road was earlier quiet, he was the only one there no traffic just big grand old buildings. The venue itself was an old one, but with a plate-glass facade covered entirely by sheets of white paper from the inside.

A wave of dread came over the businessman, he was surrounded by the type of galleries that looked welcoming from the outside and interesting and full of art he enjoyed, but as soon as he walked in he felt dramatically out of place and really just wanted to make his excuses and leave.

This was one such place, a preserve for the rich and folks of higher social stature than himself. He pushed the glass door, it was locked.

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