My favorite banquette table was already occupied so I nestled into one of the 70s era couches with my red-eye. Sipping pleasurably from the thick ceramic rim, peaking over the bonaroo logo, I surveyed my old local, noticing how much had changed in the many months since I had been here. It still felt so comfortable and right.
The little pixie of a barista/bartentress with warm smile and delicate latte touch remembered me and we joked about the new accoutrement: electronic cash register, bar shelves, and stage curtains. Despite the additions, the feel of the place hadn’t changed. The newer trappings began to blur into the whole as I set down my coffee and with a sigh, opened my textbook, falling into my own own routine and letting the sounds and sight become background to productivity.
An hour or two later, switching to a fresh poured (post-cycle approved) beer, I was able to reinhabit my old converted-door table. Laptop humming, sounds of drifting conversation and nervous laughter, the espressoo machine expressing its high grind and whine every now and then, it was then I really appreciated the moment. I realized how much I missed my coffeeshop. How much I enjoyed — and got done — in that space. I’m saddened that I turned in – for fiscal and time reasons – that part of my weekends in favor of my lonely desk at home.
No more.
