We gather together usually at "The Edge on Yukon St., silently sipping coffee, or even tea, while looking vacuously into space. When the first person cracks and speaks, the rest of us watch, listen and gaze in amazement. Then we all start to talk. Some listen, some even think about things. Or knit. Sometimes we manage to mumble, mutter, or splutter a few disconnected words to each other, the droning conversation has been known to ramble on for a couple of hours. A conversation that is kept alive by coffee, plus the threat of solitary introspection and crushing clarity.