There used to be a coffee house right across the street from here. It wasn't there very long. On tuesday nights they'd have open poetry readings that I'd attend. On Sunday I'd bring my New York Times and sit for a long time over coffee, and good conversation with John, the barista. I drank regular columbian coffee, and it was good. The music was good, too.
One moring, on my way to work, I passed the coffee shop and there were cops inside, and the owner, bleeding from his head, a shocking sight. He was attacked by a robber with a wrench or something. The shop closed soon after that. I miss that little place.
It is a ritual for me that I come over to Evie's nearly every morning for coffee. She serves it black, sans my creme and sugar. It took me a lot of years to get used to the taste of it.
I like the Danish blend of coffee that Gevalia puts out. Perfect with a swirl of half and half, and a teaspoon of sugar, turning the rich brown coffee to a creamy caramel color.
*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.