The cafe across the street from Chictopia is manned by this pierced and tattooed coffee extremist who sips on espresso while he takes your order and then jumps around the station -singing, dancing, frolicking, and SHOUTING. I swear he only asks customers how they’re doing because he wants them to ask him back so he can respond “REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY GOOD!”
Point is, the man is draining. One large coffee later, and I’m still feeling the effects of his effusiveness. That explains why I look so busted in my photo despite the fact that I’m wearing my favorite headband (a DIY project, in fact!). As for the dopey look – that’s no mistake. I always look dopey.
Helen would like to add that I also look like I’m twelve. But would a twelve year old be able to jab two coffee stirrers up through a barista’s nose and into his brain to stimulate the soporific nodes in his frontal lobe so as to induce instant sleep and finally put his madness to an end? I didn’t think so.
simple