Familiar strangers

There's a little café on St-François-Xavier in the heart of Old Montréal that's absolutely adorable. It's called Luna d'Oro and is managed by two ladies. They've made this tiny place into a familiar lunch stop for dozens of people who work around here. Their homemade paninis and soups and their fresh muffins in the morning keep everyone coming back. Mostly it's their friendliness. They know the names of their regulars, and their stories. We discuss books and weather and politics.

They're part of my list of morning people now. There's the bus driver who knows me and sometimes waits for me in the middle of the street if I'm running a little late. Then there's the white-haired man who's always coming the other way when I get off the bus and so we say hello to each other. Then there's the homeless guy who smiles at me all the time and waves hi every morning. And then the car park attendant whom I pass by on my way to the office. Somehow, I've gotten so used to this now that I miss one of them if I don't see them: my familiar strangers.