Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
over their espresso drinks until it's time for their reservation for lunch at the Psaltery, the
restaurant across the cove.
“We're only open three months,” Jim says. “In a hundred days, it just doesn't give me
enough to live on the whole year,” which is why he's taking over the concession stand at
the hockey rink on the Homer Spit for the winter. He grimaces a little at the prospect.
“Here it's mine, the way I want to serve it. There I'll be serving in paper or plastic.” It
matters to him, understandable in a barista who makes his own soda water and serves his
drinks in clear glass mugs.
Cove resident Ray Whipperman, in fleece jacket and yellow oilskin pants, arrives in a
skiff. “I need a hot dog and a root beer to go.”
“You must be ordering for Claire,” Ray's wife, Jim says, loading him up and sending
him off.
What about the future? “I'm just living it year to year,” Jim says, adding “If I closed my
neighbors would kill me.” He admits that “It's a big deal quitting a grown-up job and try-
ing to make a living as a barista.”
The sun breaks through and the Sea Horse returns to pick us up. “You weren't in a
hurry, were you?” Mako says. He grins. “Because I was looking forward to a nice hot cup
of coffee.”
