[Not a review of the Malcolm Gladwell book haha.] I arrive at the cafe right at opening time to claim the coveted seat by the window. I place my order at the bar, snap some interior photos with my phone and disposable camera, then settle back into my corner, staring out the window and thinking about what tablescapes to shoot once I get my food and drink. I need to use my film wisely and snap my photos quickly, before more customers arrive, before the milk foam turns from smooth froth to lumpy bubbles; there’s a lot to contemplate.

A few days before brunch with Louise, we finally settled on a cafe to have it at. I haphazardly searched for one on Yelp, came across Harp & Crown, and remembered seeing their beautiful garden room on Instagram. Satisfied at that, without even a glance at their menu, we made our plans.

Upon arrival, we found that their only brunch option was a $30 buffet, and so what could we do but accept? We heaped our plates with chicken and waffles with maple syrup, sausages, cocktail shrimp, build-your-own doughnuts, chocolate pudding, coffee cake, walnut bread, s’mores tarts, and went back for seconds. I mean, it was a buffet! We had to!

Hi friends, it’s been a hot second. It’s not that I haven’t found the time; I haven’t found the words.

I had a shoot scheduled with a local Philly blogger one weekend, but due to an unforeseen personal emergency on her end, we had to postpone it. I was already at the cafe we decided to meet at, and unfazed, I continued to slowly work my way through my cappuccino, read a book, and had quality time to myself. After awhile, I looked up what was in the neighbourhood and found that a cafe I had been meaning to check out for some time was nearby, so I finished up my cappuccino and then went on a short stroll to my next cappuccino at Milkcrate Cafe.

I’ve just spent the morning at the Philadelphia Museum of Art to see the Dior exhibit for the second time (here was the first time) and had a Philly cheesesteak from a shop recommended by my Lyft driver (Ishkabibble’s). I’ve strolled around the neighbourhood to walk it off, also hoping to stumble upon photographic scenes, and now I’m sat at Shot Tower Coffee, perking up with a cappuccino. Why don’t you grab yourself a little something and let’s have a chat!

Sundays are days to wake up slowly. I bask in the warmth under the covers and lie still, careful not to open up pockets to the morning chill. I don’t need more sleep, but I doze off as I try to recall last night’s dream. When the last bits of the lost dream finally escape, it’s time to get out of bed. It’s closer to lunch than breakfast, but I have breakfast anyway. The rest of the day passes by in a haze as I drift around in pyjamas, not doing much, simply closing the previous week. And when I find myself back in bed at the end of the day, in a fresh change of pyjamas, the next week comes along.