Old Tipp

January 23, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:The Postal Service- Brand New Colony

When I was in highschool I worked at a coffee shop. It was no chain store, brand name java place. I knew nearly every small-town customers name, often their favorite drink and I loved mopping the floors in the evenings after closing. Locking the doors, pulling the OPEN sign chain, allowing Louis Armstrong to serenade my waltz with the aged mop. Aged like the black and white tile on the floor, the brick walls and the bells above the door that sang a short song each time a customer entered. The sound of steaming the milk, grinding the beans, and most definitely the sound of conversations- the type of conversations that can only be spoken over a warm mug. I loved that coffee shop. And in the summer I would leave the double door open to the porch. I would scoop icecream for the kids and it would drip and they would laugh- sticky. In the slow winter I would bring my school books and sit by the window. I would open them and never once glance at the pages…my eyes fixed on the falling snow and the old brick buildings. It’s amazing how nostalgic snow can be when your hands are warmed by a tea-filled ceramic mug- the world looks different. Different with worn tile under your feet. Different with brick walls that have cracks with stories to tell. Different with Louis Armstrong melodies and velvet chairs.


One Response to “Old Tipp”

  1. Schmanda said

    i love this one. makes me want to be there. and it reminds me of my favorite coffeehouse haunt when i was growing up in PA…the Monk’s Tunic…don’t you love coffeehouse names? beatnik open mic poetry and tons of candles burning, random games under the tables with steaming hot chocolate…
    mmm….nostalgia, definitely.

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