Espresso, Early Mornings, and the People of Dallas

I start my mornings before Dallas fully wakes up. The sky is still soft and blue-grey when I unlock the coffee shop, and the streets are quieter than they’ll be in an hour. There’s something grounding about that moment—before the espresso machine hisses to life, before the first regular pushes the door open asking, “Y’all open yet?”

Being a barista in Dallas isn’t just about coffee. It’s about rhythm. The morning rush hits fast—lawyers in pressed shirts, startup folks with laptops already open, construction workers grabbing something strong and quick. Everyone wants caffeine, but what they really want is familiarity. The same drink, the same smile, the same “Good to see you again.”

I’ve learned people’s lives in ounces and temperatures. Extra-hot oat milk latte—new job nerves. Black drip, no lid—old-school confidence. Caramel iced latte at 7:42 a.m. every weekday—routine holding life together. You don’t need to ask questions; the cup already tells the story.

Dallas has its own coffee personality. We like bold flavors, but we also like comfort. We’ll talk about weather like it’s a personality trait and complain about traffic like it personally wronged us. Some days, the shop feels like a crossroads—Deep Ellum creatives, Uptown professionals, tourists asking where to get “real Texas food.” I smile and point them toward brisket.

Between rushes, there’s a slower beauty. Wiping counters, dialing in the grind, steaming milk just right. It’s repetitive, but not boring. Each drink is a small performance, and each customer interaction is unscripted. I’ve watched first dates unfold over cappuccinos and tough conversations happen quietly over refills.

People assume being a barista is temporary. Maybe it is. But there’s dignity in doing something well, even if it’s “just coffee.” There’s pride in remembering names, in pulling a perfect shot, in knowing you helped someone start their day a little steadier.

By the time my shift ends, Dallas is fully awake—hotter, louder, faster. I hand off the bar, wipe my hands on my apron, and step outside smelling like espresso and steamed milk. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back before sunrise, ready to do it all again—one cup at a time.