I don’t drink coffee, but clearly something had to be done, so I went to one of the 7 coffee shops on the corner. You may not know this, but in Seattle, our coffee is served up by girls in bikinis. It’s nice. I told this particular barista that I was not a coffee drinker, but I also wasn’t the sort of person to be awake during daylight, and could she please help a brother out. She winked at me and said, “Oh, I’ll jack you up,” and concocted this horrible bubbling brew with five shots of something awful in it (I assumed it was whiskey, but in retrospect I don’t think this was the case).
I brought the coffee back up the street and drank it quickly.
Jack me up she did.
It’s been half an hour, and I have removed my shirt, am pacing (actually running) around my apartment gritting my teeth, barking at the balcony squirrels every 3 minutes, and watching documentaries about the Manson Family at inordinate volume. If things don’t improve soon, I am going to march back down there to see if that bikini-clad witch has any thorazine.
You people do this every day? Madness.
N.P.: “Revolution” – Uppermost