For all the baristas and the coffee shops I love so hard, especially in Seattle, Minneapolis-St. Paul, Boston, and Montpelier …

Thank you for the hours you’ve let me sit here without buying much more than a $3 americano.

Thank you for finding me tables and outlets and bathrooms, bringing me water, bringing my dog water.
Thank you for clearing my table with an immediate “don’t worry about it” when I’m trying to figure out where to put my used cup.
Thank you for the times you’ve brought me a pile of napkins when you’ve seen me crying, and the times you’ve seen me crying and knew, somehow, that I wanted to be left alone.
Thank you for remembering my name.
Thank you for asking for my name in the first place.
Thank you for that time you gave me a ride home when I came in to get out of the pouring rain, totally panicked and lost beyond reason in a city I did not know.
Thank you for the warmth, the busyness, the people watching, the reminding me that the world is moving outside of myself and in spite of myself.
Thank you for giving me a space to be in the world: to watch and listen and talk sometimes and be quiet other times.
Thank you for a place to be in the world, when I might otherwise never leave the house.
Thank you for remembering mundane details of my life, and asking me about them, and telling me some of yours.
Thank you for your conscientiousness, your intentional kindness, your service on the most thankless of days.
Thank you for caring for me, in the most elemental ways, in the smallest most important ways.

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