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I enter the espresso palace as an intense splash of warm caffeinated air glides over my skin. The walls stand, stiff and lifeless, yet remain vivacious with their vibrant colours and welcoming decor. Paintings hang there, on those walls, and my mind joins with the wildlife featured in the frames, in rain forests and safaris, far away from the present. Through the lion’s eye I see determination and experience an internal pulse of instinct. I wish to travel swiftly alongside him, with wild liberation, and know that my only calling is to be one with nature. The calming sensation of this wish allows me to open my mind to the evening. I inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth and reground myself in the cafe.

In the house of cortados stand six brave performers, ready to take on the stage. Age, height, and nationality vary with each. They no longer exist in anonymity as a shorter, stocky fellow takes a microphone to his mouth and announces their names. With passion in hand, a written word, Jeffrey confidently steps upward onto the podium and approaches the lectern.

“This is what I like to call, 'Untitled.' I had a dream, and I put that dream on paper, made it come to life.” His eyes glaze over, only slightly, to reveal tears that he regretfully releases. Jeffrey quickly swipes at his eyes, and completes this in such a clandestine manner that I wonder if anyone truly noticed. His voice quavers due to utmost nervousness, yet he manages to compose himself stealthily. The 52-year-old, modest, sure-footed, entrancing, recants a memory of the first time he laid eyes on his forever love. Every bone in my body shudders as he recites the priceless journey of a young, hopeless romantic. The gift of his poetry enchants all those in his presence, and I find myself in need of some dark-roast inspiration. However, I crave a sweeter mixture, and I set free all sense of monetary frugality for just a moment, indulging in an Egg Nog Vanilla Latte with my handsome, courteous beau.

The second act is DJ 5quar3, and within a minute, the room transforms. The once-known indie hangout exists now as a bright, colourful, energetic rave. The bass pumps heavily, a surprise to us all, and the previously collected coffee-lovers bob their heads to the beat. I recognize this DJ, but we consider ourselves acquaintances more than friends. The next three ladies manage to mold the atmosphere of the cafe once again to its normative state.

Jazmine Rose, Kassidee, and Jessie all harbor a similar talent. Their voices seem in-sync with one another, pitched sensitively to each other’s timbre. Jazmine’s chestnut hair shines between lamplights as she strums her melodious guitar and serenades the crowd with its soothing chords. Kassidee has bright, aquamarine eyes and mesmerizes each audience member as she reveals a more vibrant tone in her voice, contrasting the style with a song categorized under smooth jazz. Finally, Jessie, a young, small girl, seemingly more shy than the other two, shocks the remaining onlookers as her soul transcends through the astounding waves of her vocal chords. For the second time tonight, the talent causes shivers to course down my spine. Adam performs last tonight, and he surely elicits an unexpected reaction from those of us left in the space.

He opens with a song written by Guns ‘n’ Roses, "November Rain." I beg for a ceaseless solo. His fingertips trickle down the neck of the gorgeous, royal blue, electric guitar, equivalent to the touch of a lover. I become suddenly aware I am still trapping air in my lungs that need release. The coordinators surely saved the best for last tonight, for the ballad holds so gently my heart, possibly massaging it out of my chest. I lose myself in the melody and wish not to escape. To my misfortune, I realize Open Mic Night has closed, and I must retreat to the warmth of my bed and rest up for tomorrow's exhausting work day.