Cafe Serene

It started with me, driving by on the highway and noticing a blue coffee cup symbol on a silver sign. I parked and walked over for a closer look. The coffee shop sat in a hidden corner, the full width of its sign not even visible to the highway passers-by, as if the section was carved out of pity for their little coffee shop business, just a tiny section, to see if it could survive, an owner with a slice of idealism and artistic sense, to provide a reposeful corner in the midst of a community of plazas stuffed with greasy restaurants, accessible only through a dusty highway, and pitifully lacking in taste. Thank you, I say to the owner, for your thoughtfulness of wanderous souls like me. Cafe Serene. Try our drinks, it says on a cardboard sign that rested on the floor behind the glass facade, written in a long paragraph that contains names of fruits and tasty adjectives, very pleasant, with a cool image of a tall glass of bubbly coffee. Next to it, other signs advertising other goodies, and a small notice of a life-skills building community. Try our drinks. I inspected its exterior, neat and placid, but I could not see inside. The width of the front glass was sanded and edged into it a horizontal stripe and the huge coffee cup symbol. Underneath that, the cardboard sign covered most of the space. Even through the door, it revealed nothing but a wall, a partition which I guess I had to walk around to arrive at the tables. How do they get sunlight? If I walked in, I would most definitely be the only customer.

I was not brave today. My body was languid. I carried my body around in separate pieces.

Still, the neon 'open' sign hummed and twinkled. Cafe Serene. Try our drinks.

If only someone could see me from the inside, and revealed herself through the glass, or even be open enough to attend to the curious passer-by, I might have entered. But it didn't happen.

Next time, I told myself. And so the anticipation builds. Try our drinks, says Cafe Serene.