But, because I know nothing about anything to do with instruments so beautiful I moved on. I know enough about coffee to know what I like but I also know enough about myself that it would drive me crazy to be nice all day to people buying coffee and sandwiches.
I like the quiet of summer, the relative lack of people in town and the absolute absence of people in the dead months of September and October. Then, after the hiatus the snowbirds come to town and we have to re-learn how to cope. This year the chaos of construction on North Roosevelt adds to the apprehension about how the city will cope with the influx. All gloomy thoughts made bearable by dogs, lots of them.
The idea of being a shop keeper fills me with horror, coping with people's foibles, bad manners and ability to aggravate even unintentionally. The. I see dogs sprawled across the workplace and I think of Cheyenne stuck at home when she could so easily send the night at my desk with me. The advantage of running your own shop becomes apparent even to the obtuse like me.
In my gloomy frame of mind I'd be ready to see this lovely yellow Vespa as the leading edge of the winter invasion, a scooter brought down from Up North to make urban travel easier Down Here.
Oh, what the hell, I tell myself every ear at this tie. Winter is short a d before I know it we'll be seeing the back of Easter and all the noisy snowbirds will have gathered up their lives and rushed back north to take advantage of the start of the snow melt to plague their other communities. We'll be left to navigate round clumps of visitors, bless them, unable to find their way and who I am happy to help.
Happily for Key West these visitors trickle and flow year round, check the menus, fill the rooms and keep coming back for more. It's amazing how they keep the city well supplied with work and money and everything. That thought is enough to dispel my winter blues.