The regular rhythm of weekday coffee making is disrupted by silence. The music is softer, the tourists less frequent, and time progresses at a stalled pace.

The barista stares into space, awkward and unsure of how to spend his time between coffees. Readjust his hat, steal glances at the till girl, think about things that need to be thought about, or perhaps not think at all.

His brow furrows. He grinds, locks, pulls, pours and delivers each cup with a shortbread cookie before the next order has been received.