Mark T.
Yelp
IT'S ALWAYS BEEN A BARREN SIGHT when I've walked into Java Lords on Euclid. With the narrow corridor of a coffee shop stretching further back than I've ever stepped, I've never made it past a few feet inside, only going as far as the condiment station to throw in my 17 fake sugars and a lid on my coffee cup. I've been here four times and each time the only other person was the sole barista, a guy that I never caught the name of and will probably never see again.
The first visit was on the last rainy day here in town and as he crafted my drink, the conversation drifted from how Phoenix has never forced water rations but they receive no where near the rain that falls in Atlanta, to how life sucker punches you and sometimes even kicks you while you're gasping for breath, and then one day you look around and discover that you're absolutely lost even though you have a road map with a sticker screaming at you, 'YOU ARE HERE!', but you're stuck where that sticker says you are because it seems like everyone's left you behind, and you don't have anywhere else to go.
On that rainy day morning just off Little Five Points, I received an exceptionally made latte and my commute to Alpharetta still took forever, but it didn't matter.
The next few visits were on drier mornings but surprisingly, it was always just me and him and no other customers during the few minutes I'd spend between ordering my drink, waiting, and then adding slight adjustments towards preferences discovered during my years spent as a barista at StarSux.
Serving the B&B coffee brand so popular and familiar around these parts, the coffee was always great and we rarely ever mentioned the topic. The small talk would start as just that, but an odd question would work it's way into the conversation and he'd let go a tangent flow of half memories about family and vague allusions to loves long gone and always having to push through the weeds with no end in sight because the only other choice is no choice at all - and without even a tinge of self-pity.
With less pretense and none of those faux-philosophical-reality-show-confessional epiphanies, it was always a surprisingly different experience of a morning coffee stop. With no line, no constant rush of the espresso machine, and absolutely none of that artificial-corporate-ordained-happiness pumped into apron wearing baristas, I barely noticed the rest of the space.
Rather than an all out coffee-house-guitar/band/music/songwriter scene there is a slant towards theater, and improv splatter fliers line the bulletin board.
My fourth visit was his last day working there, having moved onto a new job someplace in Buckhead. And although I've been back, and the coffee is just as awesome and the space just as empty on nearly every morning, it's different. I suppose that's why some of us keep trying new places and meeting new people at random, for those chance meetings that glimmer and fade but connect strangers before we disappear forever.
***2/33
