I went to Dunkin to get some work done on my day off. Warm coffee in hand, my work begun. The people who filled the place around me were all unique. An old lady with a pale yellow sweater, white tee-shirt, and navy blue beaded necklace sat chatting with an older gentlemen from the next table. They appeared to know each other. She sat with conviction, this was her place… I could tell. I bet she had been coming here for years, a habit she made over time. The gentlemen speaking with her appeared content. His posture and demeanor were relaxed. They were friends. Maybe he came here often, too. The place had a murmur about it. Not noisy or soundless. The aroma of coffee spread through the air. Harsh flourescent lighting above every table. Yet somehow, these people seemed at home here. All accustomed to the atmosphere of this place, their meeting ground. A place of habit and ritual for them. It was intriguing. Observing these people felt like an intrusion. It was as though I was in their home, watching them have their morning coffee. My work did not get finished because I was absorbed in watching these people, and so I went on my way.