The first pot goes on while the cafe is still dark, the chairs still up on the tables from the night before. No one is waiting for it yet — that is the point. By the time the door is unlocked and the first table is set, the coffee is already waiting: deep, quiet, and ready.
Whoever comes first gets the window table, the one facing the harbor and the gulls. They do not have to say anything. We put the cup down, we leave the pot, and the morning goes on in its own small rhythm, the boats coming in one by one below Pier Street.
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