The Other Side Of The Street
I woke up on the right side of the bed, yet I find myself on the opposite side of the street. It’s a Monday morning in November and it’s absolutely beautiful out. Just a month ago there was a bitter chill in the air. But that’s long gone.
I couldn’t find a spot at my regular coffee shop. I don’t know if that’s because of the weather or if people are just feeling especially productive on this Monday morning. Maybe there was another round of layoffs somewhere and people are looking to add a little structure to their day. I don’t know. I just couldn’t get a table and it was sort of baffling.
I like the people over at this place, my second choice. They really appreciate your business. So I don’t feel guilty coming over here. Quite the opposite, I feel bad for staying away.
The guy gives me a detailed story about my coffee. I like that. He says that it’s harvested in Ethiopia and roasted in SE Minneapolis. He warns me that it isn’t a true dark roast, but instead a full city, and that they should have the dark roast available soon. In fact, they have it on the shelf. Smell this, he says as he holds out the bag of beans.
It smells strong. The kind of coffee I like. But the full city is just fine. As is the altered perspective. I’m across the street. The weather is beautiful. And it’s a Monday morning in November.
