Caffeine runs through my veins as I stare out the window. The sun is setting over the suburban backyards in the distance. Dusk is overtaking the parking lot just meters in front of me.

Two girls cross the sidewalk and chattily enter the café. They disappear behind the wall of coffee beans and ten minutes later, emerge wearing their work uniforms. The taller one makes her way to a sullied table near the cash. Her movements are swift and efficient. Once the surface is washed down, she dumps a few wayward used napkins in the trash bin.

Her colleague first keys something into the cash register, and then proceeds to her concoction-making area. I've never seen this employee before. She must be new though she seems to know the ropes relatively well already. Her hair is a bit of a hot mess but not unappealingly so. She seems very serious about espresso. Like she's in her own coffee-bean microcosm. The busy bee churns out mug after mug of hot beverages. She only makes contact with the outside world when her co-worker calls orders out to her or needs relief at the cash when she -- presumably -- takes bathroom breaks.

The taller girl seems to get on the nerves of the coffee expert. I notice the latter rolling her eyes often as she walks away from her colleague. The coffee-making girl does her work, rolls her eyes, but otherwise has a pleasant demeanor. She looks calm and patient.

Something about her is so subtly familiar. Though I'm certain I've never seen her until today, she reminds me of someone. I feel oddly like I already know her. Maybe she just has one of those familiar faces. Her gestures are rhythmic, and flow like she were in a coffee-doused waltz. Unfortunate that her partners should be inanimate objects -- mugs, percolators, filters, coffee beans...

Maybe one day I could offer to dance with her. Though I have two left feet, I feel like I'd be a much more animated companion than the barista's tools of the trade.