Sunday, April 20, 2008

Barista not Flirting with You, part VIII

Oh he was.

He's ceased.

And now I hate him.

The trouble with entering the warfare of love with the intent to make a novel out of it, is that you forget the consequent ravaging, the burned villages, the smell of scorched flesh. If you will.

All part of the novel, of course. A harrowing existential journey, like a junkie's diary. In the mean time, however, you've lost 8 years of your life, your veins, your soul, and have contracted an assortment of deadly blood bourne viral infections.

Clearly this insufferable human being is not worthy of my canonization of him Into Art.

The coffee, however, is.

Ammended list of powerful people one should piss off at one's own risk: (1) waiters, given the proximity of their body fluids to your food (2) singer-song writers given the off chance that their version of your affair will play on a top 40 loop across the nation (3) dentists, hairstylists, others who weild very sharp objects near your head and (4) writers?

This raises two further question (1) how badly can you hurt someone with words and (2) am I writer?

The answer to Question 2 could lead me to a wardrobe change and an exciting new world of pick up lines ("medical student" is surprising not as productive as i had hoped. People just hide their cigarettes. Or the type of people who do get excited about the medical professions...get a little too* excited about it...)

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