It's become sort of a cliche to write about reading in coffee shops. But I have to, because I did it for the first time yesterday.
I have a favorite coffee shop. The atmosphere is simply perfect. Dark, soothing colors, not cluttered with trinkets, yet has enough art and 'things' around to make it interesting. Their coffee is more than decent, and they serve my favorite drink. The people are friendly, seating is ideal, it's right next to a bookstore, and they're right on a street corner, so that anywhere you sit, you can watch the cars pass by on our busy little mainstreet. Yet, despite their being my 'perfect place', whenever I go, I'm either with a friend, or on the run.
Yesterday was different. I had an entire day to spend exactly as I pleased: and I was pleased to read a beautiful little book, curled up in the corner of a deep, soft couch, across from a reasonably realistic, fake fireplace, while holding a warm, smooth Tsunami in my hand. And it was wonderful. Obsorbed in the tissue-thing pages, oblivious to the passing of time, with no pressing engagements to claim me, and a free drink on my card, I had a beautiful time, and did not leave for at least three hours.
I look forward to the next holiday.