[hyperpretension]

Good fucking god, this soulless, sag-faced vampire. He will not shut the fuck up. He uses the guise of needing to plug in his iBook G4 (LOL) as a pretense for trying to start up a "conversation". I've seen this guy around, always wondering why "a pretty girl like her was hanging out with an ass-old creeper." Mystery solved. There are a few of these types floating around this particular establishment. I imagine that they are what HIV-infected cells are to normal cells, just floating around douching up everything. I was sitting at a quiet table, admirably judging everyone around me. Now I'm at an HIV-hijacked table, incapable of basic function, like a character from Rent, just waiting to die.

*I pause for a moment to dump the tea out of my plate. A note to baristas, when serving tea, use a goddamn string or twist tie or something. Fuck this lazy freebag stuff. I'm tired of getting tea all over me because you casually draped my teabag over the side of the cup. It gets tea everywhere! I can't put the bag in the cup because I'm drinking hippy freebag tea with no tie and I don't want to eat fucking tea leaves...

Anyways, this guy stands over me while I'm trying to write and mutters about how power cords are this completely inefficient technology and how technology companies refuse to "explore self-powering computers" by "cracking open the hydrocarbon." Whatever dude, what kind of haircut is that anyways? A mohawk? You're like 70.

"Wendy, let me explain something to you. Whenever you come in here and interrupt me, you're breaking my concentration. You're distracting me. And it will then take me time to get back to where I was. You understand?"

The Shining 

He looks like some kind of post-apocalyptic college professor. I picture him flopping around in a dark, mildewed bathtub, naked, trying to lick the floor without touching it. Like a retarded cockroach or something. I smile, stare at my paper and continue living as though he didn't exist. He gives me lots of openings, like "cool we both have backpacks" and "...every time I come into town," but I'm not taking the bait. No go back to your lonely table and leave me the fuck alone you fucking hippy. Just sit over there in the immutable silence of the cosmos and stew over your opinions on Einstein and god and stuff that washed-up grad students think about.

Then some stoner pulls up on a motorcycle and sits down with this guy and I'm wondering if he is aware of his surroundings. I realize he isn't because this weirdo mole-head with the grey mohawk starts kiting him with metaphysics. I understand that he does not use punctuation when he speaks. Nor does he stop to breathe. How is that possible? Again with the self-powering laptops? This stoner guy just sits there with his eyes half-shut, with his dreads pinned pointing up, strange, making him look like a fat Statue of Liberty. Then the stoner leaves or whatever; farting his needle-dick motorcycle up into the sky. 

As if by some force of nature, this hippy plague-machine runs out of forums to troll and Yahoo! mail to check (who uses Yahoo! mail anyways?), gets up, and now he's wandering around, bothering people:

Creeper: "I need a Portal gun." Innocent person: "Oh yeah, Portal." (returns to own conversation) (Creeper moves onto next table, targets busy student with headphones on) 

Creeper: "What are you studying?" Casualty: "Biology." Creeper: "I... (followed by asinine bullshit)" (Creeper dons tin hat, starts punching self in face)

I'm not into this whole free-love, "we're at a coffee shop so that makes us friends" crap. I almost yelled at the guy, "Shut up and leave her alone!" I didn't because, well, if she's studying Biology then she's probably an obnoxious pre-med student, and I don't want to get mixed up in that. But still, loved-ones, please don't dump your lonely, schizophrenic relatives off on public institutions. Keep them tied up in the basement where they belong. The end.  

So there's this really weird looking girl, looks kind of like Nicole Kidman and a stereotypical Britocrat spawned her directly into a pink polo. It's weird because I don't usually see polos in extreme Salmon. Her face is really pointy and I feel like she probably has a bad sense of color. Maybe none at all. She managed to match her shirt and her lips, which honestly I feel is a flagrant overuse of Salmon. She also has strawberry blonde hair, the most annoying hair color. It's really a strange expression of pretension. I have to picture her in the back of a Chrysler Sebring, being taxied to a country club by someone named Chauncey. But at least she's quiet.

It's the girl across from her that seems, well, like a total boner. To the naked eye she seems like any other college freshman, frumpy, glass-eyed, studying for some intro-level class that's "really interesting." The Salmon girl gets up for a few minutes, and this girl starts in with, "You know, it's like, the things I say, like, go right over her head." I find that hard to believe. It seems physically impossible for her words to go over someone's head. I suppose there might be some Quantum loophole... 

As soon as Salmongirl gets back, she breaks into valley-girl English,

Boner: "OH... MY... GOD... What IS that?!?!" 

Salmon: (struggling) "...mocha." 

Boner: "Giirl i HaVe to ttrY that..!" (solicits sip)

Dude, what you haven't heard of a "mocha"?? Of course, it's not even a real mocha, just a bourgeois iced mocha.