One black coffee please

I often go to this nearby cafe on my own. I like going there, reading, writing, observing people around.

A lot of people like me come there. They, too, spend hours there. Sometimes working, reading, writing. Some just doom scroll through their phones.

There is a sense of familiarity in these faces. Some of them I’ve seen come there since years now. Some of us acknowledge each other, smile a little knowingly, like a little ‘whats up!’ — but we’ve never really talked.

I don’t know their names, they don’t know mine. We never became friends. But we still ‘know’ each other.

I know this one guy does this really cool stuff (which I can’t talk about lest he lands on this article some time and think I’m some kind of psycho), there are some who regularly discuss land deals, this one fellow comes and gets some milk from the cafe and offers it to a semi stray/pet cafe dog.

The dog is friendly. Does not bark, run after people. Goes up to most people just greedily for a pat on the head.

That’s why I go there. Because over the years, when so many things have changed over the time, this place has remained the same. The people have remained the same. And the coffee has remained the same. (Except, they switched to transparent glass mug instead of lovely ceramic they used to have earlier for my coffee)