Breakfast at the Bar

breakfastaloneblog.jpgWalking through the rain drenched streets of Lower Pacific Heights and Japantown, the brunch spot seemed warm and alive on an otherwise empty, cloudy day. I took a seat at the bar, skimmed the menu for a moment and decided. Avoiding conversation with the patrons next to me and not wanting to watch the servers, I looked dead ahead. A bowl of lemons sat bright and out of place beside sinks and brushes. They seemed as out of place as I did, unmoving amidst the bustle.

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