It was the first time in a long time that I had brought coffee with me on the morning walk. It's getting to the point that the dog only walks to coffee shops and the only way to make him leave is with a cappuccino and a croissant. The reusable mug was wider than I remembered. I kept transferring the leash from one hand to the other, trying to take a drink without spilling coffee on my coat while giving Cooper enough leash to roam. I figured if I brought the cup, I'd save myself a trip to the coffee shop.
A woman passed us going in the opposite direction. By the time she was behind me, I'd started settling in.
The street widened. The light changed first, losing its sharpness and settling more generously across the buildings. They glowed from the sidewalk up. There was more traffic, and the cars became smaller and more numerous. I was walking along the Champs-Élysées, carrying coffee from the shop around the corner. I love the luxury of coffee shops.
The dog was still with me. So was the mug, but the air felt different against my face. The buildings rose in pale rows above the street. It was morning before the city woke up. Or it was evening. A stroll after dinner. Maybe for dessert. I could feel the particular pleasure of anticipation.
Then I saw someone I knew.
We stopped outside a café. It was morning now. I wanted it to be morning. She reached down to pet Cooper. I loved that he didn’t jump on her. Then she stood again and smiled.
That we can match another person’s stride while giving them our full attention feels like evidence of the sophistication of our neural networks.
As we walked, I let the future gather around us. There was an apartment nearby. We were headed somewhere, and I realized we had met at that spot for some reason I couldn’t recall.
The leash tightened. The dog had stopped behind me, interested in something at the base of a tree. When I turned, I realized I’d finished my coffee.
The dog began walking again. I adjusted the leash, put the mug in my pocket, and followed him along.