Procrastination and Caffeine at Store #2222 — Lincolnwood, Illinois

I walk through the heavy glass door and am greeted by the ever familiar green and white siren logo. A panorama of black and white photos of fair trade workers covers the wall. Hip alternative music plays — not too loud. Sweet aromas waft in the air. The baristas in their green aprons, ready to serve, call me by name — a third place to call my own.

But I procrastinate — always waiting until the morning of my Writers’ Circle to practice the noble craft and complete the week’s assignment. I plug in the laptop and get a tall Pikes. It’s time to get to work.

I look around. The line flows steadily with the usual harried commuters and students. A few others like me, with laptops open, are scattered throughout the store, plotting out their work days or teeing up projects de jour.

A fairly packed house this morning: most of the regulars are here. I share a glance of mutual recognition with some…. or even a “hello” with others.

Up in front there’s Gorby with pocked marked forehead, the middle aged Shah, and the tough looking Tel Aviv hitman (who’s name I recently found out is Yitzhak, and is actually a pretty nice guy). And then there’s Murray, the lecherous loudmouth yenta who can’t but help himself from hitting on the cute 23 year old Korean barista….I gag silently to myself.

Mr. T walks in with muscles bulging on his muscles. And of course, the Bucharest City Council is here — a host of Romanians solving the world’s problems — mostly tradesmen who make their own hours, a security guard, a couple of alpha hustlers, and a hanger on-er or two who have nowhere else to go. Towards the back is John Bolton, with his bushy gray mustache, and at the table next to him, the pet shop girl reading a novel.

A second cup, and the caffeine is clearly doing its job. But still, the procrastination muse will not depart. I check Facebook, play a game of online chess, glance at LinkedIn, and of course, I must see the most emailed stories trending at the New York Times.

But finally — I sense an actual spark of inspiration. Just maybe, I can do this thing. I fidget, adjust my underwear, center myself, take a deep breath…..and sigh. Time to get down to some serious writing……