This is for my newspaper and graphic designer friends. There’s a guy sitting in the coffeehouse wearing a Fresno State Graphic Design Club T-shirt. And on the back it reads: “We dream RGB. We bleed CMYK.” Only graphic designers and the people who love ’em will get it and grin to themselves. And photographers, too, I suspect.
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A pretty young woman came into the coffeehouse to study a bit ago. She’s wearing a short skirt that exposes her lovely long legs and a strapless top that exposes her lovely shoulders and a butterfly tattoo between her shoulder blades. Aww, thank goodness it’s summer again.
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A woman at the next table – she comes in fairly often and usually meets a friend – has glanced at me a couple of times. I wonder if I have food in my teeth.
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I’m sitting in the coffeehouse and a woman who works for the local school district sat at the next table. She is loud, obnoxious, and apparently knows everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. She’s loudly complaining about the district, the former superintendent, and the school board. And I just want to stuff a pillow in her mouth to get her to be quiet. That’s not wrong; it would be a public service. … I’ve turned up Pearl Jam on the headphones and even that isn’t drowning out her voice.
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A teenager walked into the coffeehouse a little while ago carrying yellow roses and accompanied by three buddies. A little later, two teen girls came in. One of them received the roses. The guy and the girl are sitting on the couch hugging and chatting. The buddies and the girl who did not receive the roses are now sitting around a nearby table not talking because they did know each other before arriving at the coffeehouse. Is this what teenage dating has become? Yellow roses, teenage chatter, and the wingmen – and wingwoman – left in uncomfortable silence?
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Wonders why a man in his mid- to late-50s seems compelled to loudly slurp his iced beverage every single time he’s in the coffeehouse. Every. Single. Time.
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Just spotted a guy outside the coffeehouse take a yard-long stick, scrape up something gooey from the sidewalk, and stare at it for minutes with an expression of total pleasure and wonderment on his face. Imagine, bliss found in discarded gum at the end of a stick.
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It’s bright and sunny out for the first time in years – or so it seems. I’m inside a nice cool, dim coffeehouse enjoying a Red Eye before continuing the job search. Have a lovely Memorial Day weekend everyone. … And don’t forget that this weekend is to remember those who have fallen in defense of this country. It’s not just about burgers and hot dogs.
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The words “free golf” may be the only two-word combo that is better than “free coffee.” But I had free coffee two days in a row. That may not beat free golf, but it’s not bad!
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The guy at the next table at the coffeehouse has an interesting collection of tattoos, including the word “HOPE” across the knuckles of his left hand and “LOVE” across the knuckles of his right hand. I suppose that’s a bit of tough love and hope.
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I’m sitting at a booth table at Exotic Java and on the couches near the large front windows are two guys in their mid-30s to mid-40s – I’m guessing from their conversation that they work in construction or something similar – and every other word out one guy’s mouth is @#$% this and %$#@ that.
I used to curse like a stevedore when I thought it added something to the conversation. And even when I knew it didn’t. I now feel that in almost every case cursing isn’t really necessary. Except maybe in golf and when you stub your toe getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Then it’s OK.
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Ah, coffee. That aroma. That deep brown steamy liquid comfort. That flavor. That POW to the senses. Coffee, you are the perfect elixir.
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From my perch at empresso, the Miracle Mile coffeehouse I frequent, I can see several laptops open and Facebook on the screen, several other people texting on cellphones, some talking on cellphones, a professorly gentleman wearing suspenders and smoking a pipe, several people reading books – yes, books – a group chatting, and a fellow strumming a guitar. It’s a coffeehouse, all right.
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Surprising how busy the coffeehouse has been all day. Lines for beverages, hot and cold, and the weather is sunny and bright outside. Granted, it is a bit windy, but quite nice.
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I didn’t overhear this at the coffeehouse, but spotted it in a Facebook chain: “My blood type this morning is coffee positive.” I love that!
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The empresso proprietors let local artists hang art for sale in the coffeehouse. Some of it is not, um, Monet. But something new today. An artist hung six painted skateboards and I like them.
I’ve never been a skateboarder, but I’m guessing these boards are not intended for use as a mode of transportation and aerial stunts. I would hang one or two of them. I’ll try to post a photo of them if I get a chance.
From left to right, subject matter includes:
A woman in a bikini with some of the board cut away where her hair is flowing; a Kingpin; AC/DC; John “The Duke” Wayne; an Aztec or other similar image with the edge of the board cut out; and a red, white and black board with the coffeehouse’s name and logo on it.
Artists should be envied.
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I just spotted a woman crossing the street near empresso and she was wearing a sombrero. … A very large and very colorful sombrero. Go figure!
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There’s a guy sitting on the empresso patio and he’s rockin’ out. Big time. Except, there is no music. None. He’s either hyped way, way up on something or … yeah, he’s hyped up on somethin’. … Oh, Stockton, you never fail to entertain.
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Bold coffee and loud Rolling Stones – only way to start the day.
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Warmer weather means lovely coffeehouse patrons wearing short shorts and sundresses.
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Letters From Away 