It’s been a while.
A mysterious road-stop when you need it. Walking, biking, driving, passing by better than Brigadoon it appears. You’re not sure you’d noticed it before but it’s a friendly looking place, cozy Lincoln Logs, not something you see everyday, and the smells of coffee and cooking are heavenly. Like fog clearing you remember running into people you’d always wished you could meet, having great conversation, something that seldom happens when you’re looking for it, when you’re prowling at night knowing the next dive will be the one, though you can’t seem to remember when you were there. The aroma surrounds you, wrapping itself like a best friend’s embrace, infiltrating your vehicle as you’d slowed to take a look, putting gentle hands on your handlebars.
You pull over and park. You could use a rest from walking anyway. You stop pedaling.
You go in.