Huddlings of Warmth

Last night I was awakened at about 3am with the sound of thunder! You have to understand that in San Francisco, we almost never get lightning and when we do, there's usually no accompanying thunder (we called this 'heat lightning' back in Pennsylvania).

"It's crowded here today!" said one of the other customers here at Cafe Commons. "A cafe is a good place to be on a day like today."

The day is not rainy; it's July, ferchrissakes. But it is blustery, and it is overcast, far moreso than is typical. It's cold. I know the Midwesterners and New Englanders will balk, but cold here is not a number, it just is. Trust.

The cast of characters...

The customer who uttered those words has a 17-month old child. Another woman across from me has a 3-month old, Gabriel is his name. There is also a 14-month-old, Sierra, the child of a British woman.

Soonae and Jong, the proprietors, are Korean and simply the loveliest human beings you'll ever meet.

There is a youth hostel just down the street from Cafe Commons, and every few months, a group of hosteled youth show up each day for several days in a row, here at the cafe. Today, there are four young men, whose origin I cannot pinpoint from their language. At times it sounds German, but then it suddenly gets sloshy, like Russian. It's not quite as calisthenic for the lips and tongue as Polish, though. So let's just triangulate all those, or take a weighted average, and call it Bunyak (a Pennsylvania immigrant term for amalgamated Eastern European).

One of the young men is simply beautiful. Dark hair, small eyes. A spiky hair thing going on. Sideburns long, and a flat broad smile, perfectly symmetrical. The easy laughter of friends or travelling companions plays with no resistance on his face and the other faces.

Adventure! Itinerant or otherwise.

Adventure, and respite.