The cafe on the corner opens early and never seems to be empty. Regulars claim the same stools each morning, nodding to one another over the rim of a cup. Behind the counter the espresso machine hisses and sputters, and the owner knows most orders before they are spoken. A chalkboard lists the day's soup in looping handwriting, and a plate of pastries sits under a glass dome that fogs whenever the door opens.
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