Juna's Cafe

It's well after school now. It's even almost dark.

Yet it's only 4:15.

I'm sitting on the big orange couch at Juna's Cafe drinking Papua New Guniea coffee, juggling time between sips and taps at the keyboard.

I don't really know what I'm doing down here. I don't remember why I wanted to go down here anymore. Oh yes, that's right. I went down to hang out with Sasha for a bit, but he turned back halfway when his parents found him. So then I figured I could use some coffee. Then I got some coffee. So then I figured I could probably start my essay on Holocaust connections, or if I wasn't in the mood I could write a little.

On my way down, I resisted the urge to run. I was in no hurry, but I needed coffee.

Is that a paradox? Wasting energy in order to reach it?

Instead of the essay I promised my teacher or the story I promised myself, I'm caught up in just about everything else. Particularly the other people sitting here at the cafe. I'm watching them, listening to them. No, per se, I'm not barging in and interjecting, but I'm certainly observing from across the room.

Two college students, one with jet black hair hidden under a green bandana, conversing loudly about a Korean preacher with a incomprehensible wife. I think she's also a barista here. The other girl has a round face and blonde hair. She says she has to actively look at her to understand her. But she has to go, else she misses a rendezvous. She picks up her jacket.

The History of Art. A bagel with butter and strawberries. He puts down his jacket and unravels his scarf. He begins to eat his bagel. The book opens. A picture of the Alhambra in Spain. Judging by the book and his interest, he's probably an art or history major somewhere.

A couple, one man and one woman. The woman has her hair in a bun and has beautiful eyelashes. She's reading a book. The man wears a brown sweater, black hair, and tight jeans. He's writing with a green pen. Or doing the crossword. Or doing sudoku. Something that's turning his mind away from his female friend.

Oh my god, what am I doing? Is that how bored I get? So bored that I have to watch other people for my own amusement? I'd be kind of freaked out if I were them, and admittedly, I'm creeping myself out just a little. But I don't think they know I'm doing this. This isn't illegal or anything.

This coffee is good. When I entered the cafe, I thought I'd be coming in for a chai. But I needed more caffeine. The barista behind the counter, a former ACS student with blonde hair, small blue eyes, and an apron, recommended the Papua New Guinea. I eyed the Sumatra, but I went for the Papua as recommended.

It's keeping me awake, at least. I'll go home in half an hour. I'll do some homework, read a bit, then probably resume my life behind a computer screen.

Oh yes, yesterday. Yesterday. Mmm. Jammed with some vibes yesterday. Didn't go well. Couldn't count for shit and David couldn't walk for shit and the vibraphonist played maybe 3 songs. Shit. So yeah. Now I'm tired. Bitch stay out of my way. On a lighter note, I consumed a total of 2 slices of lemon pie at the dinner last night, so yeah. I got that whole near-death feeling you get from all that fat and sugar.

Love.