You’re sitting inside the local Timmies, when you can see the drizzling rain coming down from the black sky through the window. The workers are in the back where you can’t see them, but you can hear them talk about mindless subjects, conversation to pass the graveyard shift. Soft, complacent music plays all around you, drowning out the silence but numbing you to sound. A group of four males in their late twenties sits at another table, there for a midnight snack, dressed in their dark rain clothes. A couple shares a table by the window, both barely talking, simply looking outside.

There are three other people at your square table, where the seats pivot on a pole and feel hard but comfortable. You feel at ease, as if you can say anything both in and out of character and not worry about what others think. You relax enough to cachinnate inclemently, to speak ribald matters, to not speak at all. You let down your guard, something that rarely happens even in close company, but you feel vulnerable but safe.

The conversation is balanced and the pace is just right. You’re filled with jocundity and wish the feeling wouldn’t stop as soon as you step back outside into the rain. This simple situation has put you in good spirits. You wonder if you’ll ever get to do this again and feel the same way. You hope that fate will place you here again in the future.

With your friends on a chilly fall night.