Coffee shop blues

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Here I sit with my laptop, coffee and macarons. I wish I could stay here and write all day long.

Outside, People pass by with their earphones, backpacks and sunglasses: students; professionals; the elderly; and tourists. A soccer player, or an overly crazed fan, carries a soccer ball and wears a jersey, I don’t know which team because I don’t follow futball aka le football aka soccer, in an animated conversation with his friend or girlfriend or sister. A girl is walking her bike with sunglasses, her hair in a side braid. She looked right at me through the café’s floor-to-ceiling windows, I think we made eye contact, but I’m not sure as she did have shades on after all. Sidewalk vendors sell their wares and the careless youth bathe in the summer sun. Here in this café, jazz is sprinkling down on us from the ceiling speakers and the patrons are diverse in age, ethnicity and fashion sense. Cities are amazing places with all sorts of people.

The time will come when I am full of coffee and a little bit jittery with all but one macaron left. I’ll try to resist temptation but my rebel hand will stuff them into my mouth before I can will it to stop. Soon, it’ll be time to pack up my belongings and pry myself from this café. I will have sat here for over two hours drinking in the symphony of sounds: chatter, nibbling, feet shuffling, baking paper crinkling, coffee sipping, doors vibrating shut and espresso machines whizzing.

In the words of Shakespeare, so it shall be, parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good [day] till it be morrow.

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