Daybreak

There’s something about daybreak that feels like the universe’s way of apologizing for the night before. That’s how I described it to Island Irv this morning as we sat outside The Circular Journey Café, sipping our coffee and watching a jogger arguing with a Canada goose about sidewalk right of way.

“The goose is going to win,” Irv said, nodding toward the honking bird, which had assumed a power stance and refused to yield the path.

“The jogger might as well take the long way around,” I agreed. “It’s better to respect the wildlife hierarchy. They carry a grudge for a long time.”

We both leaned back, letting the morning light fall across our faces like a kindly grandmother’s shawl. This was daybreak as it should be—golden, a little smug, and just humid enough to remind you of your laundry situation.

That’s when Lupe appeared, wearing sunglasses that suggested she either hadn’t slept or had just come from a press conference.

“Good morning,” she said, drawing the phrase out like it owed her money. “Why are you two sitting here like you just solved world peace?”

“Because daybreak,” I said.

“Because goose standoff,” added Irv.

She took a long, suspicious look at our coffee mugs. “Are those egg sandwiches I smell?”

“Indeed,” said Irv. “I ordered the Signature Sunrise Delight. Genome here went for the Cheddar Nest.”

Lupe narrowed her eyes. “Brave choices. The new barista’s name is Serenity, but I wouldn’t count on her emotional availability.”

“I liked her,” I said. “She called me ‘chief’ and asked if I wanted my sandwich to feel cozy or adventurous.”

“She looked like someone who might have taken a weekend ayahuasca workshop,” Irv whispered. “The kind where they talk to raccoons about forgiveness.”

Just then, Serenity herself emerged from the café with a steaming mug and a single pastry balanced on a plate. She had the aura of someone who spoke fluent tarot and possibly knew what our credit scores were.

“I brought you a chai, Princess,” she said, setting the mug before Amy with the solemnity of a moon priestess. “And a lemon scone with rebellious energy.”

Lupe stared at it. “Is it safe?”

“It has the consciousness-expanding power of a shot of turmeric," Serenity explained.

We all paused.

“Well, alright then,” Lupe announced and eagerly set in on the scone.

“Signal if you need anything else,” Serenity said, before floating back inside.

“I miss the old barista,” Irv muttered. “He couldn’t steam milk to save his life, but he never asked about my birth chart before handing me a bagel.”

“You’re just cranky because you dropped egg yolk on your shoe,” I pointed out.

He looked down at his foot, sighed, and then muttered something about ‘being targeted by the sun.’

We lapsed into silence again, watching the goose chase a squirrel, abandoning the pursuit halfway through in what appeared to be a mutual agreement.

“I think this is what Barry Manilow meant,” I said eventually. “About the moment when the night is through. You know—that sparkle that insists, ‘things are actually okay, despite everything you dreamed about in the third REM cycle.’”

Lupe looked up from her scone. “Barry Manilow also said to get up and look around, so how about getting me a napkin?”

She said this in the tone of someone who would lead a rebellion if her lemon glaze started to flake.

So I stood and handed her a napkin with ceremonial reverence.

“You two are ridiculous,” she said, dabbing delicately.

“But it’s daybreak ridiculous,” Irv said. “The best kind.”

We all fell quiet again, watching the light climb the palms and listening to the bird gossip carried on the gentle breeze. 

The coffee warmed us. The scone, as it turned out, wasn’t cursed. And then, as if by magic, Vintage Vinyl, the record shop next door, turned up the outdoor speakers to play an old vinyl recording of Daybreak itself.

As Mr. Mannilow crooned, Lupe leaned back in a zen-like repose, Irv seemed lost in let's remember, and even the goose seemed to mellow out.

“Let’s stay here forever,” I said, "like Sugar Mountain." My two companions nodded in agreement because at daybreak, anything feels possible—even miracles.