An Afternoon at the Coffee Shop

I had a moment of procrastination yesterday at my neighborhood coffee shop. These are the results, in a mostly un-edited stream of consciousness.

Sitting in a coffee shop - the local - by myself, but not alone, because there are other customers here as well. Hands loosely wrapped around a steaming mug of new coffee - my refill, for which I paid in cash - exactly, which is a rare occurrence. The sun is not bright, but the sky is blue and the windows are floor-to-ceiling, the kind that open in warm weather to extend the seating to a patio on the corner. My neighbor at the next table seems to be one of those who needs to attract attention by everything he does - making noises, bouncing around, listening to noises presented through the speakers of his laptop, fiercely punching the keys on the keyboard. He has also flipped through his book, which sent cool drafts of book and coffee-scented air my way - something I don't care for, as it invades the personal space bubble I have constructed around myself and which I carry with me everywhere I go. The second cup is not as delicious as the first, but at least it is warm. I have been distracted from reading about book history - after so many pages I need a break, lose concentration, find myself reading paragraphs without understanding or remembering the contents. Two others, on the other side of my irritating neighbor, have been discussing scripts and theaters and props. They seem to have been discussing the development of a play. Both are dressed snazzily, with wool coats and hats and patterned scarves. They left just now, sending cold air from outside drifting back around the shop, bringing goosebumps to my arms and face and shivers to my spine. So I wrap my hands around my coffee mug again and stare into space.