Peet's

Fall passed like a fleeting dream the way it always does and now we’re back. Lacing up old routines like worn out shoes. Like we never abandoned them. Like maybe this year if we’re careful, we can hold time steady between our hands, set it how we need. Tonight our hometown bar smells like spilt beer, old spice and the ocean. The combination sweeps me to somewhere familiar. I’m tucked under a weighted blanket, I’m back behind the steering wheel, I’m floating in salty water face to sky. A few visits to the coffee shop on the hill and they’ve memorized my preferences again. Still they’re in no rush to get it right. I slow down from the sounds and smells and there I am. The year of fleece pullovers and polyester scarves. We were a clashing combination from the start I suppose. I used to think the only way to end something was to burn it alive but maybe it’s better if we hold it to the water’s edge and wait for it to set sail.