my sexual attraction to cafés

across from the italian restaurant on höza street. definitely the smallest café i’ve been in. a whole shelving unit of coffee bags to-go, pour over makers, and at-home tea brewers. their target customers at 4:45pm on a wednesday are men in solid colored polos, big silver watches, black belts, and jeans. one table is completely occupied by three employees unboxing and testing an espresso bean grinder. the café’s decor is an array of cat clocks (where the eyes and tail move in-sync back and forth). i think my father has underwear that is an exact replica of this patterned wallpaper. i’m sitting in one of the two locations for seating… an arm chair by the door, so i get the beautiful soundscape of two worlds: the world in the café and the people walking by outside. the rattling of keys in the hand of a passerby, the skidded steps of a woman on the phone. there’s a strawberry-blond guy who looks like the love child of Patrick Stump and Ed Sheeran. i adore the playlist of classic american music and modern pop that’s playing. this café has a comfortable homey-feel. the sound of conversation and work reminds me of thanksgiving day — opening cabinets and closing drawers. the sound of home.