The barista smiles, her fake pep cutting through last nights
hangover. As I drop my money for the coffee that will inevitability make
me shake through the rest of the day, I chuckle.
I come here to
get away from my house. If I stay there, I stay in my comfort zone. I
don’t write, I don’t create, I don’t DO. Maybe that’s why I’ve never
felt truly HOME in any house I’ve ever lived? Because a house is
typically a place where I am at my worst. With a book, a couch, a TV,
and an internet connection, I can waste literally days at a time.
But there is something about a coffee shop. With the distracting bustle
of the customers, the chirping of the over caffeinated and overfriendly
staff, the uncomfortable chairs, and the brief exchanges of
pleasantries used as an excuse to put off reality for just a few more
minutes. There is something about it that brings out my best. Here I can
sit, and through it all, my dreams of taking over the world are still
possible.
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