“Thank you,” Cameron says, placing his change in the tip jar. He snags some half-and-half pods before heading to a booth-for-two in the corner. Scooting to the front edge of the bench, he pours the cream into the coffee. Narrowing his focus to the thermodynamic swirls of tan, Cameron straightens his back, ankles crossed, right toes on the floor. He lingers on a bite of apple fritter, and takes a sip of coffee. Eyes shut. He breathes in through his nose. Hands on lap in the dhyani mudra, he exhales, the smell of coffee and fritter forming his olfactory mantra.