It was raining. The sky was hazy and grey. The sounds of people talking over lunch was a low murmur. The cappuccino machine was hissing as it foamed milk. The faint smell of burnt wood came from the wood pizza oven. Someone had just come in and there was the faintest cool breeze cutting through the warmth of the room. And then a bus drove by and I could hear the sound of wet tires on pavement, and just for one moment I could have been standing in a restaurant in Little Italy in New York. My heart jumped a bit. This is the first time I'd felt that 'connection' to San Jose like I've felt in New York and in Boston.
And then everything went back to normal, but my smile came easier the rest of the day.