Early, in the pre-dawn dark, I'm at my usual Starbucks. Nodding silently at me as I approach, Myron starts making my regular venti redeye (I have to stop him if I'm ordering something else.)

He remembers to put in the stopper so it doesn't splash out of the cup and hands it over to me.

As both of our hands are on the cup in the handoff, we say, startled, simultaneously:

Did you pay me?
Did I pay you?

Neither of us can remember, because the pattern takes over awareness; there is no mindfulness. We do this every week day. Sleep walking.

He laughs and says he's not awake before the sun comes up, and I laugh and agree. He waves me on, saying the drink's on him, and I leave. He knows I'll be back tomorrow.

I drop a tip in the jar on the way out.