Of course there will be one. Won’t there?

One appreciates the little things, of course. And the one that comes to mind is my regular trips to Cup, the small café at the bottom of the hill and slightly beyond. In fact, it is oddly placed on a thoroughfare rather devoid of shops and provided with a pleasant vista thanks to the slope that falls away toward a motorway and the nondescript Excelsior neighborhood beyond. On a good day, when the weather permits and the windows have been cleaned, Mount San Bruno waves its broadcast antennae from the south.

The menu is appallingly limited. I sometimes order a version of avocado toast. Sometimes granola. Occasionally a bagel. And of course, a cappuccino.

I don’t go there because it’s a spectacularly good source of caffeine or calories. I go there because of Sam and his wife. Not to mention their startlingly beautiful thirtyish daughter. Sam is Jordanian. His wife is Hispanic. His daughter is otherworldly.

I go there because of the welcome. The minute I am inside the door, Sam, if not occupied, cranks up the espresso machine. The half teaspoon of sugar gets added without a word. I am known. Sam, or his wife, pull a chair out of the way, and I roll to the action.

Sam always says it is great to see me. He acts like it too. What I do then is to vaguely look around. I do this for reasons that are unclear. Perhaps I think there might be someone to talk to. Or perhaps not. After all, what I do next is, in retrospect, downright odd. Armed with my cappuccino, I pull out my phone or unfold my newspaper, and begin to read. I only get so far because, well, because. The newspaper is unwieldy. The phone contains more than a human being can absorb. Besides, breakfast arrives.

The odd part is that I feel obliged to be busy. I pretend that this is just a break from my busy day. I have not gone there to hang out. I am no flâneur. But that is precisely the reason I have gone there. I want to get out of the house, get out of my thoughts, actually talk to someone who is not Jane. This, in my old and retired age, is hard to admit.

I do not linger there. And that is the curious thing. Lingering is the whole purpose. So I read, consume my granola, polish off the cappuccino. And then, as though an alarm is going off somewhere, I depart to punch the great timecard of life. I am absolutely nuts, in other words.

So believing that this will all be over and I will return to Cup, I do look forward to being a little more social, taking my time, appreciating what there is to appreciate. In fact, I intend to do this everywhere, overall, as a new rule of life.

The only problem, and it is a major one, is that businesses like Cup must survive months without customers and months with rent. How on earth this is going to happen is beyond anyone’s imagination. Still, one has to imagine. That there will be a future with Cup.