Dinner at the Strudel House in Budpest - the type of restaurant that seems to attract wide eyed tourists and seasoned locals in equal measure. I was obviously a tourist, having spent a total of three hours walking around the freezing city, regretting my choice in clothes.

However, I want to write about this little table in the corner. Because when it comes to restaurants, I am definitely a seasoned local.

And this little table worked hard tonight. When we arrived, it played host to a couple drinking coffee and playing cards. Then it lay empty for a few minutes, until a tourist couple temporarily stayed, sharing a strudel and a few moments respite from the biting cold outside. Then, finally a solo diner sat there – a local man enjoying a late night steaming bowl of goulash soup and sour cabbage.

And I was suddenly struck by a sense of how the stories and humanity imbued in an inanimate object can seemingly bring it to life. It transcends wood and glue.

I’ve become a little obsessed with these special demarcations of privacy in semi public spaces. A temporary space that holds so many iterations of life.

And there must be tens of thousands of these tables across the city.

Cities express themselves not just in plazas or grand cafes, but in these tiny, adaptable squares of surface area - where strangers become temporary owners for a few minutes. The table’s loyalty is indiscriminate.

The city flows, people pass, plates are served and cleared, coats shift from hooks to shoulders to hooks again. But the table remains - as infrastructure for connection, as basic and essential as a doorhandle or a bench.

Tables like this don’t change the city, but they let the city change around them. They are indiscrimate - they don’t really create the moments, as such, but let them happen.

Their only philosophy is availability. And that’s probably enough. Less