There's a particular magic to a Saturday morning market that we didn't expect when we built the trailer. People aren't in a rush. They linger. They circle back for a second cup. They bring their kids and their dogs and stories about the last time they had coffee this good — usually somewhere far away, somewhere they miss.
We pulled up at six and were pouring by seven. The first regular showed up before we'd even hung the menu board. By noon we'd made over two hundred drinks and run out of oat milk twice.
The best part wasn't the volume. It was a woman named Sofía who tried our cortado, closed her eyes, and said it tasted exactly like her grandmother's kitchen in Loja. We talked for twenty minutes while a line built up behind her. Nobody seemed to mind.
This is what the trailer is for. Not just coffee — connection. We'll be back next Saturday. Same spot, same time, same hopefully-not-running-out-of-oat-milk.
