So every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning I pass this coffee shop. Well, it's more than a coffee shop. It's an umbrella-festooned, tea-bedecked palace of temptation nestled on the second floor of a glorious, leaky (gloriously leaky?) limestone building designed by I.M. Pei. Skylights gild the cash register. Floor to ceiling windows drape a blanket of light over the sign advertising syrup shots. There are plants. There is music of a carefully calibrated volume. Did I mention the umbrellas?
I pass by twice a day, once on my way into work and once on my way out. Those profligate days upon which I use the bathroom, I pass by four times. But I have never once -NOT ONCE- stopped to buy coffee. Why? Because I'm going to buy coffee tomorrow.
I've been going to buy coffee tomorrow for, at last count, twelve and a half weeks. There's a lesson in here somewhere, but I'll be damned if I'm going to learn it today.
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