Coffee Spills

What I hear and see and think about at the coffee shops I patronize.
Brisk. Fresh. Well-balanced. Occasional nutty and bittersweet overtones.
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Saturday, June 11, 2005

Just a boy and his dad on a summer morn

A toddler and his dad in matching shirts were gathered around one of the patio tables outside the coffee shop. I could see them from my table window. But, oh, my heart was in my throat. As dad chatted with the other men solving the world's problems and reporting their golf scores, the unsteady toddler, new to walking and balance, played with a long stir stick near the curb where the cars come barreling through and drivers try to park in the narrow space. First he dabbled the stick in the dog water dish that the staff keeps outside. Then he'd taste it. Then he'd try to poke the large mixed-breed dog secured next to the bowl in the face. Then he'd go back to splashing in the water with his stick, and licking the stick. While dad chatted, I chafed.


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