It's interesting being an urban working nomad.

Letting go of the geographical anchor of my office (which was funky and i loved it) was tough, but it has shifted my patterns in interesting directions. I've always liked working in cafes, the right level of ambient distraction, and enough impetus to get out for me to maintain focus. But now I relate to them more intimately, since they are my main daytime space. And there's something umbillical about the wireless connection (and the constant addiction-nourishing stream of cappucinos).

I like the shift and drift, finding the right space for the time and the mood and the light. The right seat at the right table. Cafe Prado for creative reverie, its austerity and calm and cream-filled apple muffins (but only one plug). Turks for a harder night-time edge. Cafe Euro for rainy afternoons and egg on bagel. And of course each has its tourists and regulars and occasionals, its readers and writers and pontificators and crazies and geeks. People I know well and others I don't, who I still do, in the way that we are all linked to the urban nomad placenta.