There is a specific texture to the half-hour before a café opens.
Chairs being pulled down off tables. The espresso machine groaning awake. A spoon being dropped, then picked up, then dropped again. Someone humming a song they think is private. The smell of yesterday’s coffee meeting today’s coffee.
I will sometimes walk to a café fifteen minutes before they open just so I can sit on the bench outside and eavesdrop on the morning. They open the door, the bell goes, and you get to be the first one in. Adoro.