The Bell Tower Bar at La Fonda and Starbucks, in San Francisco St

Sunset. Fellow travellers spill onto the deck, watch the sun go down, sip their drinks, chat. Strangers talk as if they know each other so well as not to know each other. Everyone is coming from somewhere and going somewhere else. The patrons are rich one way or another, confident, and relaxed. Those who are lost look for themselves by simultaneously abandoning themselves in two or three ventures.

Nature speaks here, so one learns how to listen. After having accentuated each landmark and highlighted the patrons’ faces, the lights are dimmed. The night breeze takes over from the sun, now screened off by the mountains. The breeze clears the tables of plastic menus by sending them four floors down in an impromptu slice-your-face marketing campaign, which preys on wandering terrestrials. The patrons dissipate soon thereafter, to prepare for the next scene.

As Jacqueline pours steamed milk into a short paper cup, her exposed biceps reads: "Maybe it’s not about the happy ending. Maybe it’s about the story.” She is an instantiation of the concept of beauty as a whole that exceeds the sum of its components: oversized mouth, uneven teeth, squinting eyes. Yet the hair is done impeccably, and, framed by it, all the seemingly imperfect components are revealed as intentional, inevitable, and in fine taste.

There is nothing happy about an ending. Endings are not inevitable, however, and can often be replaced by breaks and bridges. The story need not end as long as one is not possessive about it.

The customers share their travel notes, exchange encouragements, learn from, and are inspired by, each other. While the branch may subsidise the homeless and the itinerant, the brand soaks in the magic that delights globally.