Late afternoon on a dreary Tuesday afternoon in a coffee shop, on Western Ave. The room is dim. Small lights hanging from the ceiling create a warmth over her as she writes furiously on her laptop. She has short, curly, chestnut colored hair. Fingernails typing away at her computer are a deep red. Her name is called from behind the counter, "Tobriah!" I know it's her because she jumps up, and walks over to pick up the steaming cup of hot coffee, which has her name spelled out, on the side. She reaches for the cup and as her fingers meet the sides, she pulls them back quickly whispering a silent "ouch" and placing her thumb in her mouth, in hopes of subsiding the pain.

Tobriah attempts to pick up the scolding cup for a second time. This time pushing through the burn, and scurrying back to her seat, beneath the dim light. She sits sideway's staring at her computer screen for only a second. And then puts her face to the steam coming up from her cup. She takes a deep breath in.

Across the coffee shop sits a man and woman. They are side by side in big black recliners. They are hand in hand. He has a newspaper in his free hand. Red glasses frame his face, pushed to the end of his nose. She has a book in her free hand "Where The Red Fern Grows." A classic.

In front of them, a line is forming at the counter. A woman stands at the start with two children. One a girl, about 5 or 6 years old. She is blonde with blue ribbons in her hair. The second child is a boy, short brown hair, square glasses, about 12 years old. He is begging for a frozen drink and the little girl is tugging on her mother's arm, "I'm tired mommy," she wines. The mother tries to calm her children and orders a large hot coffee, the tired in her eyes shows that she needs it.

At the end of the line is an older man. He has smokey great hair, a black leather jacket, and a brown cane to lean on. He seems content as he leans with both hands, one over the other, on his cane. He has round glasses on top of his head, a common theme in this coffee house today.

Behind the counter baristas in their green aprons run around filling orders. A young woman with blonde hair, that sits on top of her head in a high ponytail, wipes the sweat from her brow, with a bent arm. Another young lady with short hair and a red scarf tangled in it, takes orders at the counter, while a young man in black is spreading cream cheese on bagels.

Suddenly a shout from the drive-thru window pierces through the quiet "Awe man, I spilled it everywhere!"

The blonde giggles and says "that's your third spill today Wendy." The woman with the red scarf rolls her eyes and says "I'll get the spray and rag."

The man in black never moved from his station. And I am on the outside, looking in.