June 26, 2010

Dead hot american bummer

"I mean, it's not like I go there looking for him," I reasoned with B. "I just want an ice coffee."
 
We were walking home on the main drag in town on a Friday night. I still attest that the most difficult thing to do in NYC is just to walk in a straight line. Even harder on a Friday night. And on Bedford ave, always.

Since moving into the neighborhood, there's one dude in a coffee shop a block from my apartment who throws a pretty intense gaze my way whenever I go there. I guess he's attractive in a salty kind of way. Wears a lot of neutral colors, some sorta newsboy cap even though he's definitely thirty-something. Talks to me like he knows me. It's polite to ask a stranger patron "How are you?" but a little bit presumptuous to ask "How have you been?" going insofar as to introduce himself to me the last time I went for an iced coffee.
With the plethora of attractive people in this part of town, I imagine lots of them drink coffee and most of them also go to this coffee shop. I'm not flattered, really.

"But you're a little bit looking for him," B jaunted back.

"Maybe. Well actually, no. I have no intentions of dating a barista," I replied. "Besides, if it goes south, that means I can't go there anymore. And I don't like not being able to go places. Lord knows I've already got a handful of dead zones on this block alone."

"True. Now you know how I feel," She retorted. "I can't go into pretty much any bar, since X's stupid friends all work there."

"Yeah, you really kind of killed so many birds with that stone," I pondered. "I mean, at least each place I'm persona non grata is from a different dude. You've pretty much Mindsweeper'd yourself from most all of Williamsburg watering holes. One errant click and then there's all these exploded mines where you can't go."

B cracked up laughing, which I appreciated, considering any talk of her most recent ex pretty much gives her anxiety attacks and a whopping case of the sads.

"Mindsweeper! It's perfect!" She cried, still laughing.

My belly was so filled with fried chicken and rhubarb pie which made laughing more laborious than normal. Having just spent a marathon coffee binge the other night with a vegan, I was suddenly inspired to eat the most decadent non-kosher meal (involving the carcasses of so many killed things and the by products of killed things), despite my diet-guilt resulting from a 48 hour seeming vegetable strike.
Did it make me feel better-- not really. Did it alleviate the heebie-jeebies I got from envisioning what I imagined to be the deprived existence of going vegan. Yes.

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