Downtown Lawrence, crisp air, a stale bagel and a rich cappuccino. Tonight, I wanted for nothing else. Which is not to say that I do not appreciate company. As anyone who knows me can surely attest, I enjoy conversation. Sometimes, I even let the other person talk.
But tonight was night for walking, for thinking and not thinking. Sometimes -- ok, oftentimes -- the latter is preferable.
And so I departed from work, walked the block to Henry's and ordered. I talked with some strangers and the barista first. The barista was nice, asking, with obvious sincerity, how my drink was. This is something I try and do often, not just because it seems nice, but because I genuinely care. If your drink isn't what you wanted, I want to know so that I can make something you like. She seemed to have that same interest.
Of course, the cappuccino was great. They always are at Henry's, which is why I go so often. The espresso is sweet, but most of all, the baristi are all quite good. I mean that in every sense that I've discussed barista quality. They're friendly and polite, as well as knowledgeable and skilled.
So, cappuccino and stale bagel in hand, I walked out the door. Mass street was crowded, as you'd expect on a Saturday night. I didn't expect so many Halloween costumes quite yet, but oh well. As Customer Jim (something of an omnipresent man downtown) said: "It's Lawrence."
And so it is.
I never did figure out exactly what the bagel was supposed to be. It tasted vaguely of raisins, and there looked to be spots, so that's my best guess. But I could be wrong. In any case, it was gloriously bland starch -- exactly the compliment I wanted. The cappuccino, again, was lovely. So was Mass. And so, on the whole, was the night.