The End

Like some of my favorite stories, I want to start at the end of mine; after three and a half years, there is a lot to figure out. So, I suppose I should ask what I am left with, how do I feel and those sorts of things. That sort of introspection is always helpful I am told. Am I any wiser or more learned...I don't know...

That's what I'm not sure of, what I am. I have no clue what I am left with from the last years. I guess I have memories, and I know how to make a really good latte. In the end, there is very little more that matters than memories, and good coffee.

Some of the best coffee I had was on my last day. I don't suppose that it was really any better tasting than any other drink, in fact the espresso was not the best, and the machine I used to make it was sub-par compared to what I was used to. It was though, the last drink I made. The last latte I made in that store was for me, and no one else, that's what made is the best, the fact that I didn't have to make it. That last drink was a very surreal feeling, the liquid bookend to an even more surreal day.

That last day was the strangest I have ever worked. I didn't have a customer for an hour and a half at one point; I am used to having a customer every minute or less on average. I spoke with a friend for over an hour on the phone without being interrupted, and I was the only one working.

Rather rambling first entry, reflective of my life right now I suppose.