This is the first of the five stories that will appear here today, one every hour for five hours. Each one is about an encounter with a celebrity of one type or another; predictably, most of them take place in a coffee shop. — Meister
“You’ll absolutely die when you hear what happened today at the café,” my then-girlfriend said, poking her head around the kitchen door to watch me struggle to cut the ribs off the entire bunch of dinosaur kale with a dull knife.
“Mmmhh?,” I responded.
“Well, we were listening to that Judy Garland album you put on the store iPod,” she said, stepping into view in the door frame. Her jeans were dusted dark brown where she wiped her hands after each shot of espresso, and she smelled like work in that way I loved: salt and coffee and warm milk. “Philip Seymour Hoffman came…
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