Stream of Consciousness Writing While at Work

The smooth sound of jazz rolls in. What a great place to work! Smell of coffee, warmth near the toaster on bitter and damp winter mornings in Annapolis, knowing I’m a pleasant part of someone’s morning. And the smooth sound of jazz. I can only hear the radio playing when I’m not making cappuccinos or some other fancy, caffeinated concoction; but having a full café with all customers already served,—then I’m able to relax and hear the jazz. My life alternates between go-time and downtime. Go-time is fun, but down-time is downright pleasant. Nobody gives me tips during downtime, but I have more appreciation for the moment. When I’m making a drink or counting someone’s money, there’s no thankfulness for the given time to do such things. There’s distension of the mind, need to get hold of and remember the particulars of substances and incidents and accidents. But the downtime—that is, jazz-time—is one moment that doesn’t get turned into minutes.