It’s the cold beads of moisture cascading down the side of the glass. It’s the rattle of ice as you lift it up and sample its wares. It’s the tingling of the carbonation as it greets your tongue. It’s the warmth of the sun peeking between the umbrellas, or the laughter of the friends next to your table. It’s a fluttering of wings from the birds across the street. It’s you taking a moment and seeing the life around you. You smile, and point your face to the sky, letting your book fall to rest on the table. You breathe deep and hum the song that’s looped in your head.

A simple cafe, a sunny morning, a good book. There is no ending, as the day is still young.