It seems my days consist of navigating myself from one coffee shop to the next. I have a grinder, beans and a coffee-maker at home and at the office but nothing tastes quite like coffee brewed by a barrista. They come in all sorts: surly, sweet, spacey, studious. Male and female; mostly young but not always. I feel myself passed from hand to hand, from Westport to Waldo to Johnson County. The shops serve as stepping stones through each tumultuous day.
Today I find myself again at Westport Coffee House. My office is at 4010 Washington; this place is one block west at 4010 Pennsylvania. I feel safe here. No one bothers me and the tables have electric outlets nearby. The owner stocks gluten-free bagels and bread and makes gluten-free muffins.
Threatening clouds spat on my car as I came to work today but they’ve fled and this place fills with sunlight. The light fixtures cast shadows on the floor. Two men who eat lunch here most days sit nearby, discussing philosophy. I’m at home. I leave my cares at the door because nothing will be solved here but neither will anything worsen, and for an hour, I can tolerate the status quo as long as the coffee is hot and strong, and the wi-fi adequate. I am here; light surrounds me; and for the hour in which I will occupy this table, I don’t need anything else.