Jordan Miller

Six in the morning, before the streetlights have even gone out. The lights are on in 'Dawn,' a tiny café on the corner of an alley. When you push the glass door, a little bell rings, and the scent of roasting coffee greets you first. There are only four tables, and behind the bar, Jordan is measuring beans onto a scale one by one. Instead of prices, the menu board bears a single short line: 'I brew the cup that fits your morning.' It's early, so you're the only customer. Jordan looks up from the scale and, with an unhurried gaze, takes in your face, your fingertips, and the wet tips of your shoes in turn. Then he lights the kettle and gestures to the seat at the bar.