There’s something about a coffee shop that draws me in like a moth to a flame. It’s the people dotting the small tables, sitting alone with their quiet thoughts. It’s the sound of people calling out for caramel machiattos and hot americanos, grinders and steamers, clinking cups and turning pages. And the smell… forget about it. Roasting beans, baking breads and swirling syrups…how could you not love it? And every place is different. I’m not talking about Starbucks, here. I’m talking about the little coffee hours tucked away in sleepy towns and bustling cities, where the people range from the business man to the tight-jeaned hipster.
Living in Boston has afforded me the great opportunity to not only be exposed to a wide variety of persons, but also to coffee shops as unique as the people I come across. Tonight I am at 1369 Coffee House in Inman Square. This is the kind of place where the indie music is just popular enough that you might be able to hum along while you sit with your carefully crafted cappuccino and freshly baked lemon poppy seed bread. I’m presently in coconut overload with my Almond Joy Hot Chocolate (seriously contemplating getting another one) and coconut macaroon. I can tell the macaroon was made this morning, and I’m enjoying licking the sticky crumbs from my lips. My grandmother LOVED coconut macaroons. She lived in Hawaii when her husband was shipped there with rest of his platoon in the navy. There were five children with them, some of whom they would leave behind and where some of those few who still live there today. I’m glad my father wasn’t one of them; perhaps he wouldn’t have been my father if he had. I like to think of my grandmother living in Hawaii, her short curly brown hair blowing in the warm winds Pacific winds. She had the greatest laugh.
In my window seat with my prehistoric laptop blocking most of my immediate view, I can see the last dregs of orange sunlight being sucked into the purple of twilight. Car lights are twinkling, and I can hear the occasional horn blast over the music playing inside. A girl with gorgeous long black hair is waiting at a bus stop in a little black dress and looking impatiently at her phone. Must be late for a date. I wish my grandmother could see me in this great big city. I think if she had been single and childless at 24, she would have done the same thing that I did. She liked adventure too. I think she would have been proud of me.
Living in Boston has afforded me the great opportunity to not only be exposed to a wide variety of persons, but also to coffee shops as unique as the people I come across. Tonight I am at 1369 Coffee House in Inman Square. This is the kind of place where the indie music is just popular enough that you might be able to hum along while you sit with your carefully crafted cappuccino and freshly baked lemon poppy seed bread. I’m presently in coconut overload with my Almond Joy Hot Chocolate (seriously contemplating getting another one) and coconut macaroon. I can tell the macaroon was made this morning, and I’m enjoying licking the sticky crumbs from my lips. My grandmother LOVED coconut macaroons. She lived in Hawaii when her husband was shipped there with rest of his platoon in the navy. There were five children with them, some of whom they would leave behind and where some of those few who still live there today. I’m glad my father wasn’t one of them; perhaps he wouldn’t have been my father if he had. I like to think of my grandmother living in Hawaii, her short curly brown hair blowing in the warm winds Pacific winds. She had the greatest laugh.
In my window seat with my prehistoric laptop blocking most of my immediate view, I can see the last dregs of orange sunlight being sucked into the purple of twilight. Car lights are twinkling, and I can hear the occasional horn blast over the music playing inside. A girl with gorgeous long black hair is waiting at a bus stop in a little black dress and looking impatiently at her phone. Must be late for a date. I wish my grandmother could see me in this great big city. I think if she had been single and childless at 24, she would have done the same thing that I did. She liked adventure too. I think she would have been proud of me.
