So, I'm the only twenty-something sitting in this coffee shop alone, with my San Pelligrino and my computer, and there's a very large painting of a surrealistic cow hanging on the wall opposite me, and I'm not even the fucking person who's knitting, and I'm alone. Usually I wouldn't feel bad about myself but there's something about today that's making me feel that ugly little lack of confidence. I think it has something to do with the fact that it is surprisingly crowded in here, and that I am hogging a table all to myself. At least no one has asked me yet if they could borrow the empty chairs.

Today I decided I was going to tell someone something important. I am sure it will remain unsaid.

Bawk bawk bawk bawk....

I write here but I am no Hemingway. I feel sometimes like telling them that although I only pay 1.75 for a tea and then stay for three hours, eventually I will make them famous by writing here, and someone somewhere will write that in my biography, that I wrote here, and I'm doing them a favor by choosing this location. But proprietor and writer know that isn't true, and so by hour two I'm usually feeling uncomfortable about hogging a whole table and not being asked for the empty chairs, especially when it's crowded, so between hours two and three I am too distracted to write anything good (by the way, I'm at 2:32). Every minute I feel like I'm apologizing for only carrying five dollars in my wallet at any given time. It's not my rule that I can't charge orders under eight dollars. I'm not ordering eight dollars worth of coffee.