Still tripping. Still forgiven. Still showing up.
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She comes in at 2:23 on a Tuesday, and I almost miss her entirely because I'm elbow-deep in the espresso machine trying to figure out why Betsy has decided that today, of all days, she's going to...
Milly shows up at 6:14 AM with a mop, a bucket, and the kind of energy that suggests sleep is for people who don't have health inspections bearing down on them like judgment from on high. I'm still...
The bell chimes at 6:47 PM, which is thirteen minutes before I officially close, but the shop is empty and I've already started wiping down the counter with the particular aggression of someone who...
Jennifer arrives at 6:45 AM, which is fifteen minutes before I open, which is also fifteen minutes before I've finished my first cup of coffee, which means I'm operating at approximately 47%...
The morning is going fine, which should have been my first warning. I've learned to distrust fine. Fine is what happens right before Betsy decides to stage a protest, or before I discover that the...
Sunday evening. Shop's dark below me, the last of the day's coffee smell rising through the floorboards the way it does when the building exhales. The wood remembers footsteps. The ceiling remembers...