The pedestrian crossing at Fifth and Market makes this clicking sound when the light changes—not the usual beep, but something halfway between a woodpecker and a metronome. I'd walked past it maybe two hundred times before I actually heard it today. Funny how you can pass through a place without really passing through it.
I was trying this thing where I take a slightly different route each Friday. Same destination, different path. Today's variable: turn left at the fountain instead of right. The detour added maybe eight minutes, but I found a coffee cart I'd never seen before, tucked between a dry cleaner and a place that sells only lampshades. The owner had this thick accent I couldn't quite place and when I asked for a cappuccino, he said, "You want the good one or the fast one?" I laughed and said good, obviously. He nodded like I'd passed a test.
The foam had this perfect microfoam texture—silky, not bubbly—and I realized I'd been accepting mediocre coffee for weeks because it was convenient. Small betrayal of my own standards, noted.