Her name is Ann. Every morning she poors me a hot steaming cup of coffee just the way I like it. She smile, makes small talk about the weather and often ends our morning with a piece of encourament. She isn’t my wife, she isn’t even my girlfriend. She is my coffee lady. Every morning as a ritual I get a large coffee “one and one” and no donut, even though she says they are free. I scan the crowd of regular characters at the counter. Wondering about their routines. Ann has such a care free attitude and positive outlook when she makes my coffee. To the point where it is inspirational; part shaman part waitress. She once told me to enjoy the beautiful weekend, for the next one might be so nice. I do not know why I remember our little talks and why I have grown so found of her but I have grown to look forward to her and our brief encounter each morning. Maybe it all just a selfish routine for myself. I could get better coffee elsewhere, cheaper coffee at a gas station but for some reason I allowed myself to enter into this comforting relationship of routine. Routine is somthing these days that people either condem or glorify but for me it is just a routine.
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