In the mornings on my days off, I walk to the neighborhood bean shop. Lately, I noticed there's a gypsy looking lady that hangs out and sips her iced coffee. While I was pouring my usual glass of water, she grabbed my arm, allowing water to spill onto the counter, handed me a small booklet. At first, I thought a curse was about to be cast in my general direction. Instead, she mumbled about the lord in her eastern European accent, then went about her day of giving he half eaten sandwich to a not homeless but shaggy guy, then grabbed the leg of a guy on crutches so she could pray for him. A good morning, indeed.
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