Recaffeination

A pleasant neighbourhood café, he thought. Nothing about it too pretentious and maybe…just maybe…not too expensive? He looked at the tables and chairs in the dim light. Mid-afternoon, and there was still plenty of space (strange for a Friday?). And the line was not too long at the counter. Three schoolkids – did he know those uniforms – and the usual screenplay writers who would not write a damn thing… He knew the type.

“Hi! Can I help you?”

The chalkboard behind the girl with braces was faded, but he already knew what he wanted.

“Large black…house blend.”

She kept grinning. “Anything inside? Milk or…?”

“No, straight up. Just black…no sugar.”

She was very happy when she turned around, hit a tap, and filled a mug. When she turned back, he had his money out, already stuffing money into the labeled Mason jar used for tips (“Make it rain…with change” – not clever, but…) “Oh, thank you, sir!”

“Thank you. You are helping me return to old habits.”

A little confusion on her face – name tag said “Laura” – but she was still smiling. “Whatever you need, sir.”

He found a seat in a booth with a good source of light. And he could see the vapor rising from the mug, smell the dark roast (did not even need a taste to know the type of beans brewed), and feel the warmth.

“Recaffeination begins now…”

*

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