The other weekend I was reading outside at this one coffee shop in my neighborhood, and this (young) (white?) guy who I was sharing the table with struck up a conversation with me on Marx, since I was reviewing some Marx in preparation for a class coming up that week.
Before that, he had been dicking around on his smartphone and had a double or triple espresso out on the table, and every once in a while he'd go and smoke a cigarette, and he didn't seem in any particular hurry.
As it turns out, he's Berber and lives in the neighborhood, and he had won a green card to the U.S. in the Algerian lottery.
Later, some of his friends from the pizza place he works at joined him, and they just sat outside smoking with strong coffee and talking forever in French, while I had moved over and was sitting at another table, both to make room for them and so I could work some.
"You're recreating an Algerian cafe!", I told the guy, as I moved over.
He agreed, and loved that observation.
They really were. A little piece of North African culture, right in my neighborhood.
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