Coffee Shop, Portland

An atmospheric poem

Friendly faces soft, silky voices unlike the punk music that reverberates overhead

In this tiny coffee shop that doesn’t smell of coffee but of small, carefully baked pastries that sit lonely on a windowsill not likely to see the rabid blue sky or the tall, elegant façades just outside the door

And how lonely they must be just like the people behind the counter who long to feel the beating heat of the rabid sunlight or the freedom felt walking these quiet city streets lined with a love for adventure and a yearning for all things immaterial.