oh god look at them. All of them, with their pasty pale skin and their vegetarian demeaneur. Their hippie clothing that probably costed more than my designer sweater(that I love btw) and their greasy hair covered in winter beanies. It's summer dammit! They sit here with their mac books lined neatly in a row ironically revealing how unoriginal their quest for unconventionality has become.
Reading, staring into space or striking a pretentious pose that almost matches the plain Ikea-like minimalistic pine wood décor. And the coffee, the coffee is the most expensively gross shit I've ever tasted in my life. Yet, here I am again, not because I love this place and its unusually pompous barristas but because this is the only place in the world where I can get some much needed peace and quiet...and write.
Oh how I love to feel the words that I never speak slip through my powerful fingers. The skilled writer's words can be a beautiful tool to shape the world, depending solely on the ones chosen. Its your time, your place wherever you go and the skies the limit. No one is watching not even myself, I'm lost in a new world and I feel so pure.
I have no choice but to use my powers to transport me to a beautiful place I call home, I constantly dream of the day I get to San Diego and feel great again. I can already feel the sun slowly roasting my skin as I sit carelessly in Balboa park, a mystical place, known for it's reminiscent Spanish beauty but tweaked with a modern American touch.A place where the gentle mixture of cultures is complemented by the slow sway of palm trees; and the constant gentle lull of the surfer's heart beats to the rhythm of the waves. A place where beauty flows freely on sun kissed smiles and there is no need for pretension. Simply put, I place where I belong. Good Times.
But enough about me let's talk about the douchelberries that surround me. I often find that those who say very little have a lot of great hidden ideas, but not these people, every snort and remark is another slithery snide passive aggressive statement that was placed there to heighten the already awe inspiring experience of being in an overpriced wannabe European coffee house.
Oh Joy. Now just to set the record straight, I've lived in both northern and southern Europe for over ten years and uh sorry guys but these douche holes don't even exist there. Its just the typical street bistro style cafes and normal people. In fact if someone was ever spotted in Europe wearing a beret and blogging in a café, one could only assume that they were probably visiting... from San Francisco.
No comments:
Post a Comment