Outside, It's a Rain

The walls are orange and there are white lights that have fallen into a charming mess over the wide street-front windows. Has Mill Mountain always hung lights? I can't remember.

I hear the man behind me monotone into his smartphone as though dictating, "It's a rain, it's a cold, cold rain . . . " Inside, it's warm and toasty. The espresso machine and pastry cases sound a loud, quieting hum. My six-year-old laptop flickers from charge to battery to charge again. I'll have to buy a new one soon. A college student arrives to a boisterous reception from a friend: "You braved the rain!"

The blaring pop tunes overhead change to an Alison Krauss station, and I sink deeper into my table corner against the back wall. Brett Dennen assures that he loves me, "by and by." I picture my husband and baby cozy at home and feel a tug in that direction, but they won't truly miss me for another hour. For now, I will write.