It is 10pm, and I am sitting now in front of a man who reminds me perfectly of a cartoon I saw online that stars a very gothic grumpy man and a little floating pink balloon Update Found the link! http://www.strindbergandhelium.com . For the past hours he has been sitting alone in the darkest corner of the coffee shop with his chair wedged behind a plant, presumably to avoid attention.
He has a cain, long black hair (like this guy’s), with black facial hair (like this but more evil). Every few minutes or so he interrupts his blank stare by raising a coffee mug, surely long empty, to his mouth and taking a sip, and then holding it to his forehead as if to cool off, or possibly to warm up. I am reminded of a man drowning his mind in a pool of absinthe, building a world of pain behind his eyes.
A girl just walked in from outside with the glazed over stare and clothing far too revealing for this weather. She asks to use the washroom, the shallowness of her eyes giving away why she needs to. She isn’t one of the prostitutes that works the corners near here, just a girl who has been broken too many times to care anymore. She couldn’t even quite get the word washroom fully formed.
The man behind the counter is used to it all by now. When asked if washrooms are for customer use only, he responds, “I don’t want to make your drink.”
Tags: [tag:drugs], [tag:addiction], coffee shop