Speaking in a foreign tongue I can't place, a small assembly of semi-caucasian men crowds the Starbucks patio every morning. I know what they speak is not English, German, Spanish, Hungarian, Russian, Italian or French. I think they once told me they were from Armenia (or maybe Albania?) or Turkey -- can't remember which.
I am not sure if it's their language that fascinates me or the fact that they manifest like clockwork every morning. Maybe it's that brotherhood we share, having lived in far away lands, still speaking the old language, really really liking coffee, and all that.
