Something different... Thoughts? Interpretations?

They must have burnt this coffee.

It's supposed to be "French Vanilla", but tastes more like hot water with a hint of week-old coffee grounds. And why is everything served in Styrofoam?

I guess that’s why I come here; to drink shitty coffee in a Styrofoam cup and breathe carcinogen-fused air, in efforts to taste the sweetness of inspiration while inhaling the purity of creativity. I guess that, and to listen to the heavy Greek accent of the owner's old wife peddling her falafel as the "best you'll ever taste my dear..."

I'm here to sit amongst the yokel-locals who have resorted to bringing their own coffee mugs and whatever time-consuming coffeehouse entertainment they decided to tote with them that day.

I'm here to watch the cops stroll in and take it upon themselves to maneuver their way around the counter to help themselves to some watered down burnt coffee when the high school drop-out working behind the counter with the green hair and bastard child becomes overwhelmed by the five patrons lined up at the register. Those cops love themselves some shitty coffee.

Perhaps there’s just something disturbingly alluring about aged walnut tables and scarred café chairs that no longer recognize those faint memories of better days.

Maybe I’m really sitting in this shitty coffeehouse to see if I can score any of those angst-driven indy girls; you know, the ones that have a handful of cliché existentialist ideas and tattoos that illustrate to the world their individuality? Girls who are so certain they have a purpose, but aren’t sure what it is yet. So, in the meantime, they’re “saving up money to go back to school”, or “going to school part-time” at the local community college, while working at some coffee shop or music store; just sitting on the burner. “Would you like to try a scone with that? It’s the best you’ll ever taste!”

I remember the days when the future was a vast horizon of possibility, and desire was the only requirement to fabricate one’s destiny. We stare into the beautiful horizon and become hypnotized by the thoughts of reaching our dreams without respect for the reality of the journey. Nevertheless, time, is a thief, and desire leads to starvation without action.

To tell the truth, I have no idea why I’m here. Maybe it’s because I do enjoy drinking shitty coffee, breathing toxic air, and allowing myself to get poked in the ass by café chair springs at this walnut table.

All I know for certain is that I’ll never let myself sit here for too long, for life must be served fresh so that it is the “best you’ll ever taste my dear…”