The Wisemen at the Coffee Shop

1/3 of my restauranting is for the food
(sucking the juice presently out of glorious bacon-
 the flavor seems truly endless
 my mouth bathing
 temporarily in the
 hidden recipe secretions
 of angels).
But the rest of it
is to for the chance
to huddle down
(for the first time admitting this to myself now)
close
to all these
affluent
wise
males,
these liberated wisemen.
They all wear shorts
because if they have learned anything about life
it is that one should try to be
at least
comfortable-
they all wear glasses,
50% are balding
and beards are
mandatory.
They scan newspapers
at controlled lightning speed
with that learned tilt of the head that says
“I don’t believe this”
yet also
“I am an informed citizen”.
They all went to college
and fucked their brains out
when they were young,
before the beards
took over
like the turning of a page.
They’ve been through the meat grinder
the shit and the sizzle
the art
the politics
the booze
the career
the girls
(65% of them have one at home, still sleeping in on this Saturday morning)
and they’ve come out the other side
with beards
and shorts
and a slow-motion logic
which they hide from me
(and others)
underneath their straw hats
(the sun is bad for your skin)
and in between their comfortably cool
organic cotton-socked feet
and ergonomically correct
and enlightened
sandals
(four straps each)
and they sit for hours and eat a breakfast they
could easily cook for themselves for
½ the price.

So that’s 2/3 of the reason I’m here.
The question now is
why are
they
here?