At F. The new guy here is talking about Ezra Pound with one of his regulars. I already didn’t like his attitude or look: it’s disappointing to me that one of the original Italian cafes is now recruiting scruffy millennials. I have a training shift for a full-time job as a server. The indent of the saucer where the cup sits is filthy; the bottom of the cup is filthy because the grill of the espresso machine is filthy. Despite this detail, I will concede that the milk is perfect Italian-style foam.
Right now, my goal is very modest. It’s 11:43 am; if I stay here and try to read or write until 12:45, I can be on the gym floor by 1, then hopefully out by 3pm. Go home just long enough to drop off things, then bike to the new job. Bring book and notebook, and afterwards—you are permitted to get a drink.