Typing at a coffee shop

I’m sitting in the Dunn Bros in EP at a table for five, alone. The place is pretty busy and each new coffee drinker who spies me sitting at the table shoots me a dirty look. I want to prop up a sign that says I am waiting for four other people to join me, because I am.

I always feel weird typing at a coffee shop, it seems cliche and pretentious. Tons of people do it. I know people who can only write at coffee shops. I am not one of them. Why? Because I am totally too busy checking out the other people typing at the coffee shop to actually do anything besides try not to get busted for looking at them.

The Dunn Bros in EP is pretty cool. It’s about a sneeze away from Hell, Inc. my former place of employment, in this ancient converted farmhouse. I’d dig the vibe more if it wasn’t filled with EP Soccer Moms. Plus, I am allergic Eden Prairie. Literally. Every spring and fall the minute I get into EP my sinuses go crazy filling up and trying to explode from my face. I’m not sure what kind of vegetation is around here, but whatever it is, I don’t like it.

In other news, all my friends are four minutes late and I have a story idea. Sadly, it will have to wait until later tonight to get worked on. I’m brewing a giant, allergy-induced headache. The kind that can only be cured by a long nap in a quiet room.

Oh and in still other news, sorry this is becoming a dream journal, but I dreamt last night that I was roaming the land (well mostly bars, libraries, and bookstores) searching for someone who wanted to discuss John Steinbeck’s The Pearl, a book I haven’t read since 10th grade English.

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