Day Two of Brief-Writing at the Cafe (AKA the "Neighborhood Starbucks")

There are days when my heart seems closer to the surface than on other days . . . like today.

On my way to Starbucks to continue my brief-writing outside the total isolation of my home, I saw the man who walks his dog past my house every day. When I first noticed him walking past my house, shortly after I moved to the neighborhood nearly 5 years ago, he had with him a beautiful Golden Retriever kind of dog. I noticed this winter that the Golden was walking more slowly, so much so that he/she wasn't even on a leash for their walks anymore. I noticed when I saw the man today that I had not seen him in a long time. And I'm not sure about this, but I don't think his dog was with him today. I hope that isn't the case, and that I just overlooked the dog's presence in my haste to get caffeine.

At Starbucks they played my favorite song in the world (with the possible exception of the James Taylor/Ray Charles rendition of "Sweet Potato Pie"), Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah." This version, which I hear at this place from time to time, is done a capella (not typically my favorite). But it still sounds beautiful, Jeff Buckley being what he was and the song being what it is. This song stirs deep feelings in me that began with the boyfriend who introduced me to it, but have continued even beyond the time when he was present in my life. Today these feelings remind me that I am more than a churner-out of briefs and that soon the work I am doing will stir feelings in me to match even those I am feeling today.

On a less navel-gazing note, a future Saturday Night Live character was born at Starbucks today--the Very Loud Talker. This skinny guy in preppy clothes parked his SUV out front and, before coming in, gazed at himself in the reflection of the window of the SUV in the next parking spot over. While odd, this did not prepare us for his "indoor behavior," which is to SPEAK AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS TO PEOPLE STANDING JUST A FEW FEET AWAY FROM HIM. He seemed to have no clue that he was blowing out the eardrums of those nearby or that he was acting in any way out of the ordinary. It wasn't just his volume, though--he also spoke loudly of matters best left for quiet, delicate conversation. Methinks he was never told as a young boy, "Use your inside voice, honey." His effect on us was so stunning that everyone looked at each other after he left, still reeling in shock from the experience. You know it's bad when the Starbucks barristas actually ask, "Is everyone okay over there?" upon his departure.