At the Other Good Coffee Place this morning, they are playing very loud techno music. It’s 9AM. This would not be my first choice, especially prior to ingesting coffee. But, whatever. It’s different.

Right now, everyone in here is a woman. Two are in their late 20s, four in their 40s. The light streaming in from the big front window tells the story. Skin never lies. One of the 40-somethings is playing with her Blackberry and tapping her New Balance-clad foot to the techno music. One of the 20-somethings seems deep in thought, hunched over a book using a hot-pink highlighter pen, looking studious and serious with her blond ponytail and crisp plaid shirt. The techno-tap woman could’ve been her 20 years ago, but her own ponytail is now mostly gray. You could see them as a long-lost mother and daughter, sitting 10 feet away from each other, never knowing. I try to create mental drama wherever I go. It keeps me from drifting off.

My attention is diverted by a deliveryman from Food Services of America across the street. He has remarkable hair. On the back of his head he has a grapefruit-sized bald spot, surrounded by a massive poof of wild brown/gray hair. It looks like an overhead shot of Mt. St. Helen’s or something. How cruel fate is, to give him this fluffy thick hair, and take just a circle away. If I were H.R. Poofnspot, I would tattoo “KAPOW!” on the bald spot.

In comes a boy barista to work his shift. He has on a white t-shirt and a cowboy bandanna and looks about 14 with black short hair and a sweet smile. I wonder why he isn’t in school. Another man comes in maybe 30 or so, greek-ish, and sits down with a coffee and yogurt and watches the people walk by. No one seems in any hurry this Monday. The techno beats drives on, but this crowd is more “Moon River.”

As I finish my coffee, the crowd here is thinning out, moving on to whatever in next in their respective days as the clouds break apart and I see the blue sky again. The techno-beat goes on…sunny and share.