Where I want to be in a few years
It doesn't have to be in New York. It just has to be Fall.
I want to have that favorite coffee shop moment every day for a few years.
I'd wear my everyday casual business outfit. Or just look good. My favorite coffee roaster would be there, waiting for me. He'd be an old man, probably from the older days of Seattle with too many stories. There would be days when the no one would be in the shop -- but the Seattle man would be there. Always with a story to try and teach me a lesson. He'd smile and crack at joke at me, and I'd say something back. Then he'd tell me to get out of his shop and get married already, still smiling. Then he'd tell me to sit down while he'd get my regular.
I'd sit at my usual window seat and take out out a journal or book, occasionally looking at the types of people who pass by the shop.
The regulars of the shop would eventually sit with me and make small talk. We wouldn't know it until we all moved away or until we grew old -- but we were probably each others' best friends. From different parts of the state to different parts the world, there would be a different story to hear.
I'd tell my kids that these people meant the world to me.
"Never got together outside the coffee shop. Didn't need to."
I'd look at my inner wrist, notice the time. The watch would have roman numerals and would light up green at night. Then I'd tell the group that I had work, or a date. They'd laugh and tell me to propose to him already. I'd tell them to shove it.
Then I would leave, giving a tip to the Seattle man.
An hour a day, sometimes even weekends.
One day I'll have that.
I want to have that favorite coffee shop moment every day for a few years.
I'd wear my everyday casual business outfit. Or just look good. My favorite coffee roaster would be there, waiting for me. He'd be an old man, probably from the older days of Seattle with too many stories. There would be days when the no one would be in the shop -- but the Seattle man would be there. Always with a story to try and teach me a lesson. He'd smile and crack at joke at me, and I'd say something back. Then he'd tell me to get out of his shop and get married already, still smiling. Then he'd tell me to sit down while he'd get my regular.
I'd sit at my usual window seat and take out out a journal or book, occasionally looking at the types of people who pass by the shop.
The regulars of the shop would eventually sit with me and make small talk. We wouldn't know it until we all moved away or until we grew old -- but we were probably each others' best friends. From different parts of the state to different parts the world, there would be a different story to hear.
I'd tell my kids that these people meant the world to me.
"Never got together outside the coffee shop. Didn't need to."
I'd look at my inner wrist, notice the time. The watch would have roman numerals and would light up green at night. Then I'd tell the group that I had work, or a date. They'd laugh and tell me to propose to him already. I'd tell them to shove it.
Then I would leave, giving a tip to the Seattle man.
An hour a day, sometimes even weekends.
One day I'll have that.