January 15th 2010

4:30p - Traffic at the counter is starting to pick up. The first few of the after-work rush are arriving for the cup of coffee that will get them through conversation over dinner and evening news. Of course, the regulars are already here and they’ll probably be here long after I’m gone. This place is still pretty new so the smell of fresh carpentry and paint mix with that of the coffee. I’m told it’s Peruvian.

                At the big round table near the bookshelf a guy everyone calls Boris is talking to Jesse, dressed as usual in khaki coveralls, another guy I don’t know with large earrings, long hair and a flannel shirt, and one other who looks like an orthodox rabbi. Boris looks to be about 25 and is dressed in brown pants and a cardigan with large purple and black diamonds that looks like something out of my grandfather’s closet. Boris has a rather full beard that grows only below his jaw line and a moustache about as thick as his eyebrows that does not extend past the corners of his mouth. His curly black hair billows out from underneath his white paper straw fedora. It looks like he slept on it. I imagine him popping his flattened cap back to full height with a flick to the inside like in old cartoons. I can’t account for the impossibly flat brim though, but he looks like he needs a cigar.

                In the corner in the back the guy with the long strait gray hair is talking philosophy to someone new. Every few weeks he seems to have a new pupil but he never seems any less pretentious. I’m told he has a bad habit of hitting on the girls -who work here. They all say he’s creepy but that he tips well. In the foggy front window an older woman sits at the bar reading a book. It’s a paper back and from my seat I can’t quite make out the title but it has a large gold embossed letters on a glossy cover. I can tell it’s a real page turner because she hasn’t touched her muffin in a half-hour. Behind her, two men probably in their 70s silently play chess. Black is winning.

5:20p - The rush is in full swing and Mike and Nate have clocked in for extra help at the counter. People in suits and work clothes stand in line waiting for their fix. The high-pitched roar of the espresso machine and the buzzing of the grinder are almost constant and make it impossible for me to hear what Boris is saying. Book lady still hasn’t  touched her muffin but white came from behind for the checkmate.

5:30p - There is a tall man in a leather fedora taking too long to order. He’s wearing mostly black under a brown corduroy jacket with a scarf, black frame glasses and long sideburns. The determined look aon his face and the way he’s scratching his stubble tell me that he takes his coffee a little too seriously. Boris excuses himself to get a refill and Jesse continues the discussion while the rabbi strokes his beard thoughtfully.

6:40p - A lull in the evening affords Nate a chance for a snack and he sits down next to me. “It’s rosemary and cheddar,” he says, offering me a piece of his scone. I politely decline explaining that it probably wouldn’t taste very good with my coffee. “You’re right,” he replies, “it’d be better with tea.”

7:15p - Scott arrives just as a man, about 50, is setting up a mic stand near the front. “Are you ready?” he asks. I nod my confirmation and glance quickly at Boris who still has the three captivated. Book lady seems to have snuck out without my notice; no one can tell me if she finished her muffin. A few guys with acoustic guitars have started to assemble by the mic stand. “Yea, lets get out of here,” I continue: “my drumsticks are in the car.” We have our own music to make and no time for this nonsense.