The Coffee Shop

The coffee shop that was on the corner of the street was always bustling with life. From early morning when office staff would flock there for their shot of caffeine, to lunch time when those same people would return for their toasted sandwich and midday top up. When night time came shift workers would grab a cup or three to get them and their fellow workers through till early morning and all throughout the day University students would drop in to wake themselves up from last night’s party. The red brick of the building was warm to the touch and held memories of each generation as they walked, ran, protested, talked and lived next to it. Open the door and you were greeted by a wave of the warm smell of freshly ground beans, the bitter taste of strong black coffee in the air and the sight of the young barista that made your coffee just how you liked it. There was always one lonely middle-aged woman sitting in a booth on her own, sipping her bitter coffee and wishing that she had never met that-good-for-nothing-lying-thieving-cheating-jerk, a group of giggling teenage girls, skipping school to shop, drink their non-fat-green-chai-extra-this-but-none-of-that-tea and to discuss why so and so broke up with what’s his name. There was always that elderly couple who were still in love after years of marriage; sipping their weak tea and eating their slice of sugary cake. The seats in the booths were over-stuffed and their red leather was wearing thin. The tables had teenage names scratched into them from long ago and the menu hadn’t changed since it was first written. And yet, stepping through the door from the cold and impersonal street outside was like returning home from a long trip and being greeted by your loving puppy at the door.