Sense of Java, literally...

I inhaled the aroma swirling around in my mug. For a moment... as my music tinkled in the background.. I was back. Sitting by myself at a round table in the corner at Java Joes. Eyeing the door for a familiar face. Music and voices competing with each other. Regular cigarette smoke mingling with the more exotic essence of cloves.

The sweetness of iced coffee. The sugar extra heavy when compared with my usual concoction for Java's coffee. A waitress moves between the tables sullenly. Wiping clean surfaces and then suddenly smiling as she cracks a joke with a friend near by.

I also remember the pain. Knowing that the moment would not last. That this was the only place I could feel like that. All that it symbolized. And the pain of knowing I could never reclaim the past. The exhileration of this place when I was younger. The energy of people. Those moments. A memory. Realizing my age is beginning to exceed most of the patrons. The only irony is that I do still see some of the same servers and one or two familiar visitors on occassion.

A distinct irony is that I now think of the place in its present state. Expanded. I am able to recall a smaller Java Joes. With the roasting room. With Mr. Spock in the roasting room. When the cake case was directly to the left of the order counter. Before Matt Groening's art flowed over the walls, ceiling and support posts. I can even recall what Joe Jr. looked like years ago. A memory of a late afternoon before my violin lesson. His dad and friends getting ready for minor renovations. Playing "Julia" by The Beatles through the sound system for me. I believe I was even writing then. Those were the beginnings of "In Java, literally..."

Amazing the time that has passed since then. The changes.