Coffee: French Roast, Trader Joe’s Brand
R and I went to Fiesta Mexicana. It’s this Mex-American joint across town. I wore my winter sweater because it’s not winter but it already feels like it. The dining room was well lit. There were two lonely people at the lonely bright bar.
I’m prone to eavesdropping. On good days I tell myself it’s research for future stories. We were stuck between two boothes with big parties. Both boothes were making lots of noise.
By the windows was a group of three families on a dinner date. They had their kids with them. One of the kids talked about how she’d learned to eat her vegetables in school. Another kid kept asking her mother for a sister. It was nice to hear the families. The streetlights had a way of showing you their skin. One of those old Greek pots, vibrant people.
The group behind me was something else. Two couples, both 30-ish, only the men were talking. Well, the women tried to talk then the men stopped them. One guy was going on and on about his business meetings. He hated the ‘creative types.’ The other was blaming his date for making his mother re-arrange her holiday dinner plans. She’d talk up a bit and he’d say something like “No.” The phrase ‘They were making fun of me for owning a golf cart’ was passed around. It was quite the drama.
And all I’ve got to say is: Pft. Golf-cart-owning loser.
Novel Count: 9,075 words
Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker
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“I regard golf as an expensive way of playing marbles.”– G.K. Chesterton