A summer wind ...
… is blowing Sinatra out the door of the Zeitgeist as I walk in, along with any chance I had of waking up in the current century.
On any morning, waiting in line in any noisy, crowded, high-ceilinged, brick-walled coffee shop, I will ineveitably be full of optimism for the day ahead and for humankind. Today, thank goodness, is no different. How much of my reflexive joy is chemical anticipation of the pitch-black Americano in my immediate future? Not that it matters.
The management has shrewdly arranged for the waiting line to run parallel with a battered wooden newpaper rack full of … actual newspapars! My bias toward giddiness gets a extra lift from headlines telling me not to worry about the flu, to celebrate an uptick in existing home sales, to go ahead and give the banks another 65 billion. Sure, banks, you’ve earned it. I feel generous today.
Behind the background chatter and clinking cups, the Sinatra, the hissing espresso machines, you hear bursts of conversation and alot of laughter, even at 8 AM. Everyone behind the counter giggles along with the lady in front of me who, for whatever reason, mentions loudly that in high school she had run with a crowd of THespians (she emphasizes the initial voiced dental fricative ð). The theatre crowd is still the best crowd, she says.
There’s no people like show people.
