Ugh....There she is again. 9:45 in the morning like clockwork; she walks in, strides up to the front desk, and orders four black Americanos, and one more with two pumps of caramel and hazelnut oatmilk creamer. I wonder who gets the diabetes cream with a side of coffee?
Certainly not her. She always takes a sip of one of the black coffees before she even gets to the door. Today she's heavy on the eyeliner, messy short dark hair with a gray tank top covered by a black button up, and black pants with chains hanging from them. Mmm, I can practically feel the cold against my skin from chains wrapped around my whole body. They tighten as she pulls me close and kisses me with her....Ohhh. My. Gods, Jessica: get ahold of yourself! This is a café, not a damned sex club!
I look down, wrap my janky fingers around my warm mug and lift it to my lips, taking in the sweet scent of nutmeg as I sip from my pumpkin spice latte in an ugly mug probably made by that artisan down the street. For two weeks I've been coming in here, ordering my little white girl lattes and a buttery, flakey croissant that reminds me of my year studying in Paris back in college. I know, I know....I'm a walking stereotype. But what's a girl gonna do? I love what I love. Right now, I'm loving the thought of those chains....Damn it, Jessica. Stop daydreaming and just talk to her, you useless lesbian!
Obviously, I don't come here for the coffee. Its mediocre at best, but the croissants are just...lovely. But no. I came in here two weeks ago because it was across the street from that damn local newspaper that rejected me in an interview just because I said I put salt on my food before I taste it What the hell kind of interview question is that anyway -- Do I salt my food immediately when the waiter brings it? What the hell does that have to do with being a good editor? Anyway, kind of glad that didn't work out. That old boomer editor gave me the creeps. Besides, it led me here. Then she walked in. 9:45 am sharp, and Jesus, did she look like all of hell's temptation and fury squeezed into a five foot rage demon. Oh, I lost my soul to her right there, honey.
Shit, she's leaving! Say something dammit! What the hell do I say? She glances my way, and all I can work out is a slight nod. Gods, I really am a useless lesbian! And there she goes, doorbell ringing as she walks out of my day again without a word. This is stupid. I'm stupid. She's probably not even into me. Look at me, pigging out on this damn croissant and gulping down on this hot liquid emo girl repellant. She probably thinks I'm lame. Truth is, she's right. Im not cool like her. While she's out probably chopping wood, drinking dark beer and playing some emo shit on her awesome guitar, I'm sitting at home, nose-deep in some cheesy smut or pretending to write like a real author. Ugh.....I am lame. What am I doing here? I feel like such an idiot. Well, let's get this shit down, and get out of here. I've gotta stop doing this. It's embarrassing. Tomorrow I'm going to my regular café by the flat.
...
"Excuse me, miss?" Awakened from my daydreaming by the cashier, I shake my head out of my sleepy drifting. "I asked what I can get for you." she says, sounding slightly annoyed, but cordial as she can muster in her best customer service voice. Not a damned pumpkin spice, I'll tell you that. And no more croissants. I need to eat healthier.
"Uhh....I'll have an Americano. Black." What?! Why the hell did you get that?! You don't drink black coffee. It tastes like cigarettes laced with body odor! So now you're going to try to impress her by copying her usual. You realize you're even more lame now, with a side of crazy and creepy, don't you? Might as well see if they have that on the menu. One order of the crazy creepy crepe for the crazy bitch with the blonde waves, please. "Umm....Can I also have a bran muffin with that? You have that?" What?! A bran muffin? Seriously? Oh, now you're just screaming desperation, Jessica.
I take my weird order back to my usual table -- the perfect spot to see her when she comes in, and then unsuspectingly sneak little peeks of her as she makes her usual order. Okay.....I'm totally stalking her at this point. Gods this is crazy. I'm crazy. I'm a stalking serial killer just waiting to explode in a murderous rampage, unleashed on this little town because I couldn't handle the rejection of the girl I've been stalking for weeks. People of Logston, beware! Your future bloody headliner is sitting here.....Eating a bran muffin. I stare down at the bland, circular top of the muffin. If you don't eat this, your waist is gonna look like it. Then your signature killer move will be cannibalism....Cause you'll just eat people. Cause you're fat. Eat your muffin, cannibal.
As I take a ridiculously large and unattractive bite of my poop muffin, I hear the doorbell ring as the door swings open. 9:45. And stepping through is the cause of my heart thumping.....and my future murder spree, apparently. I gulp down the dry muffin bite. Eww, gods.....It's like eating powdered and baked cardboard. It's even dry going down!
