Rain outside. Coffee inside. The shop is a warm oasis of polished wood and exposed beams; of burr grinders, steaming espresso machines, and gleaming glass slow-drip apparatus.
Professionals, hipsters, and hippies enter, seeking refuge from the gray and the damp. They plug in their laptops and wrap their cold hands around a hot cup. A morsel of muffin is placed on the tongue, and washed down with single-origin Fair Trade drip. Coffee as sacrament. The barista leads the faithful, while the local roasters are defenders of orthodoxy.
Surely good coffee shall be with me all the days of my life, and I will sit in this coffee shop for ever. Or at least until the rain lets up.
A good perch
A different perspective
Farmers Market, a taste of local flavors.
Wealth in any community comes from its people and their efforts to beautify every member.
Rain's finally here again, after one of the hottest summers I've had in the city, a comfort of home.
...and this is how I found out Ornette Coleman has died...
We started the walk in bright sun and a light breeze. I convinced myself that the dark clouds in the distance were blowing away from us. I was wrong. Wet dog, wet human.
Graffiti and Ghost Signs