The profile ran on a morning I'd overslept.
Not by much — fifteen minutes, the kind of oversleeping that happens when a man whose pour-over is finally consistent makes you coffee before you wake up and the coffee is sitting on the nightstand in the mug with the potter's mark and the cedar is in the sheets and the body next to yours is warm and the alarm is a concept that belongs to a woman who doesn't sleep beside a man who smells like the mountains she grew up on.
Wen sent me the link before I'd finished the cup.
Read this. Then read the comments. Then call me.
The headline: The Woman Behind the Counter: How Lark Bridger Built Denver's Most Talked-About Coffee Shop on Ground She Didn't Know Was Borrowed.
