It was cold this morning. I felt all sorts of unsure about going out for coffee, even as I told R. I would. There is coffee at home. And I always say I'll bundle up, but somehow I can't do it. And now I've dug my own credibility gap within myself, so I know I'll be going brrr. And sure enough, brrr.
But then there's this--. Walking into a café where the air is made of butter and yeast and warmth. There are people speaking to one another joyfully, oblivious to the harshness of Monday, of losing the Grey Cup yesterday, or frozen puddles. Croissants and a man playing the accordion. I know instantly that for the rest of the day, they'll be no such thing as cold.