This story is part of our October 2026 issue. To read the print version, click here.

To my left, a woman with a shag haircut has been typing and re-typing the same sentence for 15 minutes. We are silently passing writer’s block between us like a hot potato. To my right, a couple is in the middle of, I think, a breakup — their voices hushed and gestures accusing. Directly ahead of me, two elderly men are playing chess. They have no idea I want the man in the fedora to win. 

For the next few hours I plan to spend in this coffee shop, these people are my company, and this is my home. 

Now, I have to tell you a secret. Despite the authority I have awarded myself as a coffee shop review blogger, I am not a caffeine expert. This article is not a sermon on the qualities of a well-harvested coffee bean or the best methods for home brewing. Seek that counsel elsewhere. 

Because I am not obsessed with coffee; I am obsessed with what happens around it. 

It started during the pandemic. Lockdowns strangled my coastal California hometown, which survived on tourism. The town reopened in May 2020, shortly after my 17th birthday, and I returned to my part-time job at a tourist shop, peddling merchandise to the emerging brave souls. In the mornings, I gravitated toward the local coffee shop, eager to see signs of life. On one particularly grey day, I watched a barista spill a 24-ounce latte on a woman reading a newspaper. 

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then the woman, slightly soggy, erupted into laughter, the first time I heard a stranger laugh in months. The interaction, despite not being mine, sparked something in me.

From that point on, I haunted that coffee shop, mesmerized by the people within it. 

I observed a local resident wrestle with an overactive toddler, collectively teaching me a thing or two about parenting. I got a crash course in middle school politics by eavesdropping on a group of “tweenage” girls. I sat next to a lot of first dates, which gave me both secondhand embarrassment and valuable dating lessons. A woman of perpetual motion, I learned to sit still in a coffee shop and investigate the world as it moved around me, picking up the small clues people unknowingly left about their lives.

Loudly and clumsily, life pushed forward. I left my hometown to start college at UC Davis, resulting in a sad breakup with my beloved coffee shop. A serial monogamist, I was immediately on the rebound. I took exploring my new options very seriously, going as far as creating a blog to rate each coffee shop and chronicle my search. 

At first, I thought I was reviewing coffee shops to ultimately find the best one. I outlined objective criteria: giving props to good Wi-Fi, abundant seating and reasonable pricing. I stumbled into coffee shops from Sacramento to London and deposited my evaluations into my subscribers’ inboxes.

It quickly became apparent that my ratings were anything but objective. A coffee shop could get an extra point if the barista complimented my outfit. It could inexplicably lose a point if I tried to pet a customer’s dog and it barked at me. I always seemed to be more generous with my ratings on payday and less generous on days my rent was due. There were coffee shops I loved because I was in love and those I soured on because I was lonely. 

In reviewing coffee shops, I accidentally created an archive of my life and its milestones. I wrote one rave review for a coffee shop I happened to be in when I received a dream internship offer. I bestowed another A+ rating when I walked into a coffee shop sobbing after a heinous breakup, only to leave with a free mocha from a sympathetic cashier.

So, no, I am not here to tell you what makes a good cup of coffee. I’m much more interested in what makes a coffee shop feel like its own world, full of characters, narratives and lives unfolding around me.

I think what I love most — even more than the taste of a cappuccino — is the quiet belonging of being anonymous among strangers, and sharing a room with people who, despite knowing nothing about me, are able to expand my worldview. 

I’m wrapping up at this coffee shop today. The woman with the shag haircut closed her Word document and moved on to bigger and better things (scrolling Pinterest). The couple finished their quiet argument, and they have scooted closer together. Perhaps a truce was called. The two elderly men finished their chess game long ago.

In a few days, I’ll return here. These people will likely be gone, replaced with a new cast of characters. I will probably never know their names. They may never know mine. But for a few hours, our lives happened to intersect at the same little cafe. And that’s exactly what I needed today.   

Cass Gorman works for a nonprofit advocating for incarcerated people and in her free time, reviews coffee shops on Caffeinated Content, her Substack. Cass is a proud alumna of UC Davis, where she was chosen as the most outstanding woman of her graduating class. You can always find her at her local coffee shop with her latest knitting project and an everything bagel.  

–

Stay up to date on business in the Capital Region: Subscribe to the Comstock’s newsletter today.