I sit down in front of the windows overlooking the patio. Outside, a blue crab guards Charles Street Market, his claws holding a lacrosse stick ominously above his head.The table wobbles every time I move my coffee. It’s quiet in here this early on a weekend, except for the sound of table-wobbling and occasional outbursts of “Good morning, baby — how can I help you?” from behind the counter in the back.
The small room is mostly empty. Two girls at a table in the corner are gossiping in hushed voices about the previous night. A tall poster advertising “Lunch Combo Creations” blocks us from seeing one another. A guy with glasses passes by me on his way to the counter to place an order. “Blueberry bagel, toasted, to go.” I watch him walk up the steps outside with his brown bag held close.
Some ambitious students weighed down by bulging backpacks are already making their way to the library. They tread carefully through the icy layer of snow lining the sidewalks of North Charles Street, lifting their heads every now and then to offer half-smiles and fleeting glances to the security officers in neon-green jackets. The officers nod in return and watch the traffic turning down Greenway.
Inside, the tables around me are filling up. A group of girls gathers around one, loudly discussing their plans for the afternoon. At the table in front of me, another student sits and opens his laptop.
He looks at the group of girls and clears his throat loudly. The girls laugh and lower their voices.
A couple sits down and holds hands across the table. The line by the counter is getting longer. “Good morning, baby, how can I help you?” and the room fills with the morning buzz.