A week away, in the order I found them.
Bad coffee at the station, and somehow that was fine too. It was hot, I had twenty minutes, and I drank it looking at a departures board. Half of what I like about coffee is not the coffee.
A good piece this morning on why every app now wants to be the place you keep everything. The line that stuck: a tool that holds all of your work has to be trusted more than any company deserves. Filing this next to my ongoing argument with myself about note-taking software.
Came back to this after five years and it landed somewhere different:
It is a tale of a place, and of the people who are of that place, and there is nothing else in it at all.
from a book I keep failing to describe to people
The first time I read it as description. This time it reads as an argument.
Three hours north and the light does all the work. Nobody on this carriage is talking. A man across the aisle has been holding an unopened book since we left, just holding it, watching the fields go by. I understand him completely.
Out of filters. Folded a paper towel into the cone and it worked, more or less — thinner body, and it took twice as long to draw through. Ten years of buying a specific thing, and the emergency version is fine.
The new place on Rowan Street weighs the beans in front of you and then says nothing for four minutes. No music, no questions about my day. I think I will be going back.