Looking around, I enjoy the way the windows at TOP POT let the light in. Even on the balcony where I like to sit, there is a great view of the street. Monorail track pinioned between the lanes of traffic - periodically the overhead train rattles by. The music is hip and new -- young. The clientelle is mixed, but hip -- urban. Except the man at the table at the top of the stairs. he has a tremendous scar on his face and a bucket hat pulled down on his head covering his kinky hair and shadowing his scar. He is nursing a small cup of coffee. He sits as though he is letting time pass, hands in his lap and gaze fixed on the traffic outside. Only his eyes move periodically. A lot of people have been in and out, some stay a while -- not long -- others stay longer -- working. They chat or are fixated on the miniature screen of a mobile device.
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