Drew

Ride through the fog, 6 AM Penn Treaty park to the Delaware River Trail. New Jersey, and Center City completely fogged over. Light this early is still novel. I look for the Penn Treaty beaver as I circle the casino. No Luck

Open the cafe. Look for the husky-corgi hybrid, no Luck. I do not usually ask strange men about their dogs, but I am considering it, since I only see the dog in the hours before 7 AM and it worries me the "corgiske" is some strange and terrible secret.

Recently everyone that comes in before 7:30 is still partying in one way or another. I am glad the customers are enjoying the warmer weather. I just look out the huge plate glass windows and sip too much coffee.

The cafe I work at once a week is in Center City as it has since the year I was born. For a while I couldn't stop thinking about how much easier it was than the job I did the entirety of my 20s, how much more sense it made money wise, and how much easier it would have been to meet women. But eventually I realized that a career barista probably has to listen to so much "big thief" that maybe this is a grass is greener scenario.

This morning's work flow stays steady. I bullshit with my coworker. The job is my first cafe job and now that I know not to steam the ice drinks it is a lot easier. Grind, foam, toast, grunt, organize a drink's title by its attributes in a way distinct from the garbled way a customer might order it, then you just talk about life. Or SEPTA, or the new mayor, the old mayor, or say something nice about your girlfriend, ask your coworker questions and wait for the next customer. They approach in, like, several styles, mainly either like a pet, non-verbal but very aware, with a thirst they can't themselves address, like not having thumbs but its not having a steamer wand or the knowledge that a latte is like, a glass of milk; or, like a teenager, head down phone out headphones in, no outside stimulus just waiting.

All waiting for you to end the non-story you tell of your 8th housemate in the Victorian house. You never knew you lived with them until they moved out.

Now we steam their milk.

--

The orders begin to pick up around 11:30 like they always do a half hour before I leave. Five minutes later the fire alarm blares out for the whole building. A calm exit ensues. I check downstairs. Someone smoked something in the bathroom.

The fog has given way to some good weather. We sit on the step and bullshit and listen to the alarm. A surprising number of people try to step over us to get in the building even the alarm can be heard outside (it is so loud my ears will ring randomly the whole next week). The big perk to the job I did in my 20s was hanging out with friends on the clock, on steps, in parks, in bars, at cafes, in record stores, bookstores, on dog walks, in the Buffalo Exchange in cool abandoned buildings, or maybe an unlocked roof, or a cool tunnel so it is nice to just sit and do that on the clock again.

People mill about on the sidewalk as they will after an alarm. Our boss comes, the fire department comes. My shift ends. The day turns to errands. I stop by my bookstore and grab something for the post office.

The day is totally free in a way, but I also don't have an off day this week so besides the Post Office I try to chill the 22 hours between shifts. I go to the Planet Fitness by my house. I ride to the Post Office. Paul Auster died so I reread some of the New York Trilogy.

I shave my face and it's pretty ugly. My girlfriend Elise does some series of treatments I can't actually see to my face late at night. I root against the Knicks but can't see the game either. About twenty minutes later I fall asleep with a face that smells like honey feeling like a rock at the bottom of the river.