It was raining on a Tuesday.
I sat by myself in a cafe on Harbord Street with my laptop and a cup of chai, having just finished my tandoori chicken parotha meal. I was there for hours, working.
Not another customer came in.
The smell of cardamom and ginger permeated the air, and I was comforted by thoughts of childhood. There was something about sitting there, surrounded by familiar aromas, that made the experience meaningful. The café had once been the first floor of a home, and the sounds of laughter and conversation seemed to linger, giving the place an intimacy that reminded me of being a guest in someone’s living room.
I was alone in that café, as I had been dozens of other times. I enjoyed the solitude of my café experience. Alone with a cup of chai, with no one else to distract me.
Only my thoughts.
That solitude was a joy for me, but sadly, the café’s emptiness wasn’t good for business.
I walked by the location a few days ago. It’s now home to a Japanese restaurant specializing in ramen. As I peeked in the window, I noticed a few diners enjoying their meals.
It’s no tandoori chicken parotha, but I can’t wait to eat there!