Tersa Ganterro, Late Summer 1746
My name is Tersa Ganterro, and I run the Kedo Pass Coffeehouse in Ibraer. It's not the thriving business it used to be, but we still get along. The Doctor has asked me, as with many more people, to write down an account of my ordinary day, and he won't let me see anything anyone else has written, which is terribly mean of him.
So, then. I wake up early, probably earlier than most of the city at five bells, and go fairly immediately to the shop, which I live above. I light the fires, and check on the roast from the day before, and make sure that it's dry enough, and if it is, start grinding coffee for the day. This isn't hard work, and I find it pleasing - meditative, almost. When enough is ground for the morning, I will put some to brew, and open the doors and take down the shutters. As I'm doing this, the milk boy for the street will arrive, and we'll have a discussion as to how much I'll need. This depends on weather - I will want more in cold or wet weather than in warm or dry. If there is snow on the ground, I'll want twice as much; if it's already warm at dawn, I'll want little enough - but never none. Pastries are delivered from the bakery over the way, and I'll get my own breakfast from these.
Soon after this, the first customers arrive. These are people on the way to their own early working hours, and they'll bring their own mugs. Some of them I know well enough that they'll serve themselves, and leave money on the counter, others have accounts that they add to on a chalkboard and pay off weekly or monthly. One of them, Terro Maethis, a book-keeper for the CASC, will settle in behind the counter and serve other customers for a half-hour or so while I finish the grinding and setting up for the day. He gets his coffee for free, and says it entertains him more than his day's work. It's very rare for me to see any new or different customers at this time, and if there are any, they're often worried or concerned with whatever has them up early. The day's deliveries of magazines and papers arrive now, a stack that can be up to a metre high on the busiest days. The delivery girl takes away the ones that are a week old. While Terro is in, I'll do the roast for the following day, and put it up to dry.
By eight bells, the early customers have passed, and the morning rush begins. My morning counterman, Zath, arrives at this point. Zath is... well, he claims to be half lizardman, half goblin. What he is is a gorgeously iridescent-scaled humanoid with a prehensile tail, fox-like ears, and eyes you could easily spend a week looking at. Sadly, he's no good in the sack. He is, however, good at serving coffee, and has an extra limb and lightning reflexes for those occasional spills. There are often queues, but there's nothing we can do to prevent it, and indeed, it's something of a good sign.
By midway between nine and ten bells, things are quiet. I'll leave the shop to Zath at this point, and catch a quick nap. When I come down again, the daytime crowd are arriving. These are the people who use the coffeehouse as business premises, in effect. They buy a steady stream of coffee for themselves and their customers, and they're the mainstay of the business. There aren't as many as there used to be; property prices and rents fell after the war, and a lot of people who used to sit in coffeehouses all day now have their own offices. They still buy some coffee in the morning, but there's a big difference between one coffee a day and eight or ten. Most of them are financiers of one kind or another. Some are lawyers. Some are historians. All of them need a table to themselves, space for paper and pens, good lighting, and things to read between customers - hence the magazines and papers delivered in the morning. There are a few customers, too, who come in just to read the papers, although that's more often the evening crowd.
Another nap in the afternoon, after lunch. Sometimes, depending on who's been about, I'll have some company for that. My room is mostly just that - a bedroom, if a comfortable one, since I've all the kitchen facilities I might need in the shop - but I also have a well-fitted bathroom. After the afternoon nap is bath time, and that can take an hour or so; I don't hurry it.
Then down in the early evening. Zath will be off, and the evening counterman will be coming in - that's Perzonides, a retired mercenary. He's a big, scarred fellow, and no matter how lively the discussions get during the evening, everyone knows who can settle them. He also does things with an espresso that I think must involve some magic. The daytime people will be going - some of them might return later on, after dinner. I head out to get my own dinner, and come back at about seven bells. This is when the evening crowd come in in force, and start to read the papers, and talk about them. I say "talk", and I mean "argue". I stay neutral, when I can, but many of the discussions are worth the listening. It's on the basis of those, for instance, that I've ordered in about a year's supply of coffee beans in advance of upcoming transport problems, and settled a deal with the bakery across the way and a few other local business to get in a massive stash of firewood. Things aren't as loud as they used to be - ten years ago, we'd have the guard along to enquire if we were going to quiet down three nights a week, and now it's less than once a month. The place isn't packed to standing anymore, either. It's still enough to keep going on, though.
The debates will wind down by about ten bells, and people will settle to more peaceful discussions, and gradually trickle out. Most, save friends and lovers, are gone by eleven bells, and I'll be off to bed by midnight.