Paul rocked back and forth, his body moving to music only he could hear. His hair was slicked back and he was the star of the show. On good days he could almost see the Flow, the invisible connections between all life. Today was one of those days. He was in the groove and instinctively knew what each customer wanted before they spoke aloud. He was a god of the coffeeshop.

He pumped two shot of espresso into the virgin cup and raised a suggestive eye brow. The girls watching him giggled appreciatively and whispered to one another, blushing. What they thought or said was inconsequential. Paul’s shows were for Paul.

Smiling broadly he presented the foamy finished product with a bow. In his mind, he could hear a stadium’s worth of applause and cheering.

A rather severe old lady stepped forward to receive her drink. She squinted one at him, sniffed derisively and left.

That didn’t bother Paul either. More than anything he felt sorry for her. That was what it was like to live without music inside of you.