The first time I read about Before the Cof­fee Gets Cold, I was sit­ting in a café not unlike the one in the book — qui­et, a lit­tle nar­row, the kind of place where time seems to gath­er rather than pass. Out­side, the city was still in its morn­ing hur­ry, but inside there was only the soft hum of the espres­so machine and the faint clat­ter of cups.