I took a walk to the New Moon in order to “get out of the house” and study. One of the issues I’ve dealt with in the last few places I’ve lived is having to just about ALWAYS drive to get somewhere. This, in retrospect, was particularly true in Bozeman.
My biggest pet peeve in coffeehouses is people who can’t (or won’t) say “espresso.” For the last god damned time, it’s not EXPRESSO, it’s ESPRESSO: Eee. Ess. Pee. Rrrr. Eee. Ess. Fuckin-ess-O. Why don’t you get back in your Neon and drive off a nearby cliff?
There are all sorts of people having “important” or “significant” conversations in this place. Why is that? What elevated caffeine and tiny tables with stiff-backed chairs to such a status?
There used to be too many high school kids in here. It seemed like ALL THE TIME. Maybe that’s just the way I’ve chosen to remember it. Of course, I look around now and see a bunch of college kids, whom I’ve come to the determination are just high school kids without curfews who can get drugs and books a lot easier. But for now, they’re just feeling important, deep, or substantial because they paid two dollars for a CUP OF COFFEE.
That damned cell phone ring. That’s Raul’s ring and it’s everyone’s. Note to R: dump the Nokia, you could get something better; more unique.
She says to Nick on the phone, sounding important, ‘WE-eee are at the NewMoonCafe?, having some dessert and drinking COFF-ee.’
My thumb hurts, I’m pretty sure I sprained it on the Golden Tee machine. It’s making my writing look worse than usual since I can barely hold the pen.
One day, someone will probably look at some of my “original manuscripts,” scribbled in important coffeehouses at nine on a Wednesday, and just looking at them, thinking of all I’ve done, someone will feel important, and following the afternoon at the museum, Nick’s grandson will ask her granddaughter if she’d like to go to the coffeehouse for some Important Pie and a cup of 200-dollar coffee.