Coffee with a young friend at a hip coffee joint where they make patterns with the foam.
A far-reaching conversation about life and death and friends and two literature people reaching to teach expository writing and feeling alone (should’ve had coffee 2 months ago) and church and spouses and parents and children and possibilities and dreams deferred.
When we arrived there were only communal tables left. I think the man at the end of the table working on his laptop was grateful when an individual table opened up and he was able to move.
Coffee and conversation and Christ in the midst of us. It doesn’t get much better than that (though the conversation was at moments quite heavy and grief filled; it was shared and that is half-way there).