scenes from a midwestern coffeeshop

I am surrounded by sound. Always. But truth be told, I'd rather be in a pretentious red room bumping M.I.A or some sort of sonic facsimile than im my own "home" where the white walls are rattling with the bass of some sort of regurgitated idea of "street".

It is friday night.

I have groceries. And movies. And a buzz from the wine and cigarettes.

It's okay, I walked.

In fact, my face is flushed and I'm tempted to remove my sweatshirt.

There are kids everywhere, they're everywhere and they look so young and I feel so old, and I wonder if I look as old as I feel. This ain't supposed to be a scene, it's a goddamn coffeeshop. I wonder if these kids know how good they've got it.

This photograph is proof, and this Sam Shepard book is cred.

My haircut doesn't suck enough to be here.

I like this M.I.A. song.

He looks too familar and too much my type for me to notice him.

its 10:40 and I don't know where my children are, let alone my boy.

I don't need to calm down.I've been too calm for too long.

Fuck it, this book isn't getting read. But I need to.