So I thought, "How would this go if more than one person wrote in the same place at the same time?" I hit up my CG0 posse for collaborators - of the five other people who originally signed up, only Inspector Hound actually met me at the cafe (although Morte joined us for the social aspect and to work on another task entirely, since she'd already completed this one). It turns out that one of the other collaborators was actually there, but we didn't know! Here is her praxis, so you can see how it works with ours.

Inspector Hound and I wrote completely independently of one another, and, until this praxis is posted, will have not read each other's observations.

zer0gee's observation: I just started writing and kept going until the half hour ended. No plan, no premeditation, just good ol' stream of conciousness for you here.

8:11pm
Morte soliciting guy to draw on her cast for Public Art task, asking if she can take his picture. Group of Goth kids came in - one of them is pretty excited about drawing on the cast. Smell of Inspector Hound's tea - I love the smell of tea, but hate drinking it, don't like the taste. This makes me sad, because I feel uncool for not liking tea. I've tried many different teas many different times and have never liked any of them. I like to sniff them in the grocery store though - I like the deep exoticy spices. Sound of something being heated up in the cafe microwave, beverages being opened, people placing orders. I miss the most awesome cafe ever, Kaldi's in New Orleans, closed in 2001 and we never had a place as good as that since. Probably never will. It was 24 hours and at any time of day or night there was sure to be someone incredibly interesting in there - celebrities, artists, freaks, all flavors of eclectic hung out there. I am swept by a wave of sad nostalgia. Why are the best days we remember always so far in the past? High whine of the cappuchino steamer - at least I think that's what it is. Don't know much about coffee, don't like that either, actually. It's snowing outside - first "real" snowfall of the year, although it's not sticking to anything, just melts to water on surfaces. I hate winter, and winter is surely coming. Morte is knitting a sock to cover her cast - weird that no one's had the foresight to manufacture them. She hasn't been able to find one, anyway, so she's making her own. I am hyper-aware of the passage of time and am trying to write as fast as possible - I always have a million thoughts being processed at once and feel the need to try to document as many as I can for this task. I don't relax well. :) Becoming aware also of cramping in my writing fingers. Find this amusing for some reason. As usual, I have a constant, low-grade concern about my cat situation that surfaces now and again - I am about to adopt a friend for Ichabod, since his depression over the loss of his buddy Speck drives him to be needy of me to the point of absurdity. I am by no means done grieving and am not ready for a new cat, but I recognize his desperation and this guy is purely for Ichabod. I've decided who it will be and am bringing him home next weekend, but I am full of various anxieties about the whole thing and they color most of my recent moods. My sweater is itchy. I realize I'm paying semi-attention to a conversation across the room solely because one of the girls involved has an annoying voice. Isn't that weird? Every time she talks, I'm annoyed. Because I'm annoyed, I'm paying attention to when she's talking and made aware of what she's saying. There's a social experiment in there somewhere. A friend of mine from the club walks past outside, but isn't looking into the cafe and wouldn't see me wave. So I don't. One of the cafe employees is sweeping up around us, preparing for closing. I am reminded that I need to clean my house really well this week to prepare for my incoming cat (see, it's there all the time). This is what I'm thinking about as our time runs out.

Report from Inspector Hound
It was a cold evening in Chicago, the kind of cold that fools you into thinking "Autumn" when you should have been thinking "Winter! Augh!". I entered the cafe as instructed and began looking for suspicious activities.

8:11 Observation begins. Clock opposite the street claims it is 9:11, must investigate this further. Morte is our decoy, enticing strangers to chat. Now she has gotten two strangers to sign her cast, one tall gentleman in a dark overcoat and long light brown hair, who had been leaving. The other is a woman, average height, blond hair under a red-yellow-orange winter cap, who hand just entered. The blond woman queries Morte about "artistic stick figures." When we mention XKCD, she expresses no recognition -- very suspicious. Can there be anyone who doesn't know XKCD? What is she hiding?

8:17 The Mercury cafe is surprisingly empty now. I see five people, each alone at their table with a laptop. What could they be up to? I can't leave my post to check. There are a couple of people on the couch, examining papers of some sort -- blueprints, perhaps? And one woman in blue sweats nursing her latte while surrounded by papers that she examines closely. She nods over them with a pen in hand, undoubtedly deciphering secret messages.

8:25 The blond woman who was lured into signing Morte's cast is at the counter, getting something. Cannot tell if it is simply a drink, or if there are secret messages embedded in her muffins. She has now returned to add to the growing mural on Morte's cast. Morte asks her where she got her cap. The blond woman replies that she found it two years ago, and that it is really tight. Morte replies that it is awesome. She's right, it is. Can someone with an awesome cap truly be a suspect?

8:31 There are at least seven people on the couch right now. No one has entered the cafe since I began writing these notes, although the counter woman has begun wiping tables down. She is tall with wavy brown hair tied in back. She wears a black shirt, possibly signaling something to her compatriots. My post doesn't let me observe the back of the Mercury Cafe's room. Make note to suggest to client to post an associate in back. Important details may be lost otherwise.

8:36 Counter woman has begun sweeping. Note to self, look at floor debris for clues.

8:38 Morte asks man in hooded jacket with fake fur lining to sign cast. He pauses to oblige. He is very obliging for a suspect. Would he have stopped to sign the cast if he were? He leaves after pleasant conversation with Morte.

Conversation is picking up as people start to gather possessions together.

Man with backpack, possible camping gear, and white plastic bag enters. Has red beard, wears baseball cap. Very suspicious. Clearly dressed for the weather, unusual for a Chicago resident on the first day of snow. Suggest he be investigated further.

8:41 Task ends, as client is only paying for half an hour.