I have been working at the Seattle this afternoon, and, as happens when one has a lot of work and you cannot stand up and dance a little in the kitchen for a bit of diversion when the going gets dull, the afternoon has drifted into evening. All of a sudden I am in a place where I am frequently, but at a different time.
And at this time, there are different people here: the folk who don’t hang out in coffee shops during the day. They come in after work and have coffee. It seems normal, but I expect them to start staggering around any minute and advance upon me slowly with empty eyes staring at nothing.
Even if they don’t, their paraphernalia tells a story. A grey-haired, portly guy in a fine charcoal suit has a massive bunch of flowers. I wonder why he is not rushing home to give them to his wife. Perhaps he is meeting her here, and will surprise her. Maybe they are not for his wife. Maybe they are for his wife, but right now he needs a moment free of anybody who might bother him, or might need something. Maybe he will just sit quietly for a few minutes and do nothing, before stepping into the parking lot and heading home with a bunch of flowers that may or may not put a happy grin on someone’s face.