from the new face at hyperion espresso

sweeping dried leaves from the curb of william st before the sun rises is surreal. there aren't any cars on the road and the lights at the intersection of william and princess anne still blink red red and yellow yellow. when i'm walking in, i hear the church clock chime six times. i can kind of see the sun starting to come up down by the river; the sky turns that hazy blue while i'm setting up the tables outside.

i scatter some ashtrays on tabletops, set out water for the downtown dogs, and think about how everyone i know is still sleeping, or stumbling drunk with some boy or some girl to bed finally to play out a long night of smiling and innuendo.

the sun comes up about 20 minutes before 7, and by the time the morning commuters line up for their drinks (tall skim latte to go, venti mocca java, grande organic mocha no whipped cream extra shot of espresso and a shot of sugar free caramel, poppy seed bagel with no cream cheese and can you warm that up? and so on etc.) it comes through the top 2nd left pane in the window in a straight beam directly at my eyes. sorry i'm squinting. hi, i'm sarah. i'm new. i'm still trying to learn how to be a barista-robot.

the hardest part about working at the coffee shop in town is feeling like you're entering a secret club. everyone already knows everyone else on both sides of the counter, and for my first week, it was jarring for both parties when a new face same sidling up to the register in the morning.

oh, that's so-and-so, jerry says. she always gets a grande wet cappucino. don't bother writing it down, i've already got it.

hi so-and-so. i'm sarah. i'll have forgotten yr face by the time yr milk's done steaming. also, i haven't seen the business side of 6 am since... perhaps ever. let's all cut each other some slack.

there are so many things to remember at work that one must distill everything into repetitive motions. i'm too busy to know how tired i am. once i stop, i feel like a zombie. i drag my sore exhausted body to my car (i'm sorry, i'm not used to this hour of the morning enough to bike yet), sit down, and wonder how i didn't collapse 2 hours ago. then i come home and crash and have tortured dreams about writing tickets for complicated drinks. i truly believe that i was murmuring drink orders during my nap this afternoon. i wouldn't be surprised; i've been told that i talk in my sleep sometimes. i wish someone could hear me.

sure, venti sumatra. would you like room for cream?
alright, short mocha. do you want whipped cream on that?
snore.

it's 9:30 pm and i think i'm going to go to bed soon. i kind of like it.