Cafe: The Bear Rule

I am drinking the same coffee I always drink here, same roast, but today it seems sweeter somehow.

From my post at the door I notice the shoes of the patrons as they enter the cafe. Despite the cold and ice, I see many pairs that are ungainly, blocky, loudly clacking on the wood. I have a joke with my wife that all clothing should follow the "bear rule." That is, it should not put you at increased risk of fatality should you be attacked by a bear.

Forget the bears. Some of these shoes don't seem fit for a parking lot.

We all know what the lack of any semblance of practical function signifies. And the clacking.

Ahead, it's a free day with nothing to do and yet too much: Get my daughter out of the house, deliver paperwork, work out, cook, clean, read this and that. I have to return a stack of books to the library, all of them too terrible to read. I tried. (One book I liked but I accidentally grabbed the large print version, and this somehow throws off my timing so I'm returning that one as well.)

No more quiet mornings in the cafe. I start work Monday.

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