“Morning lovely,” is the way I want to get greeted every morning, by every barista.
The shop is a little larger than a hole in the wall, if a truck driving into a building was how they created the hole.
Facing east, the hanging baskets of flowers glow in the sun and warm the group of us gathered and waiting.
They call my name, but it’s for a different Jo. A blonde and tanned Jo.
Opposite the shop is a mysterious warehouse. No signs, no name on Google maps, barbed wire on the fence. Looking past the men in high vis and women in black pants and sneakers I can see racking and pallets stacked to the roof. Sometimes a row of pink vans exit through the electronic gate.
Outside the warehouse milk crates wait for the staff to take their breaks.