The world goes by.
A Jewish funeral procession drives slowly past,
the black cars follow each slowly down the snow fill streets.
Above the street the tree's stand silent. Their skeletal branches sway gently as the new snow rests on them for a second then falls down the roofs and the street.
The sounds of coffee beans meeting gears.
The small room is flooded,leaving a dark sweet woody smell in its wake.
She savours the smooth gentle burst of bittersweet earl grey and milk on her tongue.
The cold air from the door, constantly opening and closing seeps into her jeans and she huddles deeper into the folds of wool around her shoulders.
Her cup is nearly empty. She sighs, knowing that its almost time to leave this
But she leaves with warm feeling not only from a stomach full of tea, but because she knows
its good to get away,
its good to think.
Or not to think.
Its important to immerse yourself with strangers and to get out of your own head.
She stands, gathers her things and walks out the door.
The smell of coffee swirls out the door with her, mixing with the snowflakes and the trees.
and the world seems a little less grey.