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How Our Days Begin


We settle it all before we go to work, or to the dogs, or whatever it is we have to do.  Nothing is beyond the scope of our analysis and expertise.  We shred fickle weather and principled politicians with equal ease.  

Our attendance shifts a little, as the heavy commitments of sleeping late, or other places to have coffee, keep us shuffling chairs.  Other early-morning coffee customers simply accept that there is nothing to be done about us, except for the weekend Bible Warriors who somehow got it into their heads that it is their space, too.  They have the advantage of ancient documents and opinions.  Our advantage is our lack of principles. 

Dennis tries to fumigate the shop with a screaming espresso maker, but when the vibrations make our teeth rattle, we signal to Tom, and Tom sends up a counter-blast that makes steam engines envious.  To get even, we tape stylish old newspapers on the windows to shade us from the sun, and say snide things about the coffee.  

We are all agreed that the best people we know sit at our table.  We have never agreed what to call the rest of the people who sit at our table.  We aren't sure who is whom.

But it is how we start our days:  talking to each other.  





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