09
Jul
I fell into the arms of another—no—the wrong coffee house. It’s been years since I’ve had anything other than tea at Starbucks. Not because my seemingly unending surplus of gift cards ran out (but lets be honest, those were the days), but because I met Irving. 71 Irving. Where the restrooms aren’t backlogged with skateboard-toting druggies and the people inside are there, for the most part, to drink coffee. Not for schmata latas with syrup and honey mustard, but for real beans.
Yesterday at around 6PM—it all happened so fast— I found myself sucking down an iced coffee from ‘bucks, without any consideration for the aftermath. I imagine for most, five hours to wade through the implications of early evening coffee is ample, but not for me.
I laid in bed for 7 hours, but slept for 4. I do, however, have a fantastic to do list to show for it all.
