The people who frequent the Renaissance Cafe and Bean Bar are the types who appreciate beginning the day in the lap of luxury, which is easy to accomplish when your definition of luxury is a steaming cup of bohea made just the way you want, without having to ask. It's amazing to experience even though I'm sure it's accomplished with false bottoms and mirrors.
Those outside the Inner Circle consider the leader of our group to be the Enforcer, due possibly to his size and vocality and whatnot. But a true democracy exists in our gathering with everyone providing opinions and suggestions and no one paying attention.
The Enforcer is one of three that can usually be found in the tightest clump of the outer fringe of this spiral of people dust. He is most often found in the company of Sideways Carl, who walks in a sort of oblique fashion as though trying to insinuate his way through the world. Carl has the gift of seeming to disappear when he stops talking causing him to flash in and out of sight during conversation.
The third personality is Auditor Larry, who is actually a collection of personalities, with a mind for many things and a voice for each one. In his recurring restful state, there is only a flicker across his features to indicate the presence of Tiny Artie, Fremont Jones, and Irv the Islander.
The Duck Man, already mentioned, could possibly pass without attention due to the unfortunate hallucination that he is actually sane, but the duck that sits on his baseball cap gives him away. This is not a plush toy but an actual merganser that acts as a sort of GPS guide to get him past innocent bystanders without attracting the police.
I can't discuss my coffee klatch without mentioning the other important regulars: Lady Hermione, Princess Amy, Sri Rama Hotchacha, and Nobody Johnson, who generally sits on the bench outside the front door and favors a drink called the Arnold Palmer. Look it up.
It's a diverse group who are united in single accord, at least between the hours of 7:00 and 8:30 AM. The tie that binds them has three knots: A shared social outlook that includes equal and compassionate treatment for all, without judgment, and with special dispensation to those in need; a disdain for anything that can be defined as work; and a firm conviction that dogs really can talk and that they often have something very important to teach us.
Well, you must begin somewhere, of course. So each morning, as soon as I get the cats fed and distribute assurances that when I walk out the door I am not leaving forever but will return in time for the next feeding, I navigate to a spot where someone who knows what I like will write, "Have a great day, Gene!" on the lid of my coffee cup.
Why would anyone do less?
The third personality is Auditor Larry, who is actually a collection of personalities, with a mind for many things and a voice for each one. In his recurring restful state, there is only a flicker across his features to indicate the presence of Tiny Artie, Fremont Jones, and Irv the Islander.
The Duck Man, already mentioned, could possibly pass without attention due to the unfortunate hallucination that he is actually sane, but the duck that sits on his baseball cap gives him away. This is not a plush toy but an actual merganser that acts as a sort of GPS guide to get him past innocent bystanders without attracting the police.
I can't discuss my coffee klatch without mentioning the other important regulars: Lady Hermione, Princess Amy, Sri Rama Hotchacha, and Nobody Johnson, who generally sits on the bench outside the front door and favors a drink called the Arnold Palmer. Look it up.
It's a diverse group who are united in single accord, at least between the hours of 7:00 and 8:30 AM. The tie that binds them has three knots: A shared social outlook that includes equal and compassionate treatment for all, without judgment, and with special dispensation to those in need; a disdain for anything that can be defined as work; and a firm conviction that dogs really can talk and that they often have something very important to teach us.
Well, you must begin somewhere, of course. So each morning, as soon as I get the cats fed and distribute assurances that when I walk out the door I am not leaving forever but will return in time for the next feeding, I navigate to a spot where someone who knows what I like will write, "Have a great day, Gene!" on the lid of my coffee cup.
Why would anyone do less?