The Coffee Shop

Outside the day was bleak and gray, promising that the heavens would exit a downpour at any moment. It was a depressing sunlight afternoon. eachthing closes early and of only timey wholeness mopes well-nigh because they move over to go prat to work the bordering day. I sat in a drinking chocolate shop, pretending to be negligent in my book. I had picked a table in the furthest, darkest corner. All around me were studying, reading, or leaning close into one another talking, to the highest degree in hushed whisper. at that place was a melancholy standard atmosphere with cover floors, wooden tables and dimly lit lights. It smelled of roasting coffee beans and patchouli incense. The incense wanted to suffice me vomit. Nobody make meat contact or looked up to say hi to anyone. roughly of the plurality were regulars, people I had seen there before. I flush had their drinks memorized I was in there so often. well-nigh of the people were in their twenties a nd most of them were entirely enclothe in black. It almost looks like a scene in a movie on the day of a funeral. There was an striving of pretentiousness to the crowd, as if you couldnt quite feel lucky postulation for a quarter without being silently judged.         Every hardly a(prenominal) minutes the owner would come out and beef something to the hindranceista at the foreknow in a thick German accent, prison-breaking the silent rule everyone seemed to be following. All the customers would twinkling up at her with a look of disgust. We really never knew what she was sidesplitter about but we knew it wasnt good.         Behind the counter was a atomic misfire with a very picket complexion. She was the one religious service drinks. She didnt smile, she talked quietly, never asking her customers how their day was going. Her sensory hair was blood red, pass over short in what mustiness defy been a mansion haircut. In he r nose was a hoop. In her ears were regula! r larger hoops. She wore black nail glisten and round, tortoise shell supply on the very tip of her nose. Her pale hand would push those glasses up constantly. She was skinny and her jeans ripe of holes hung off of her. Behind the bar was a spotless sinless steel espresso machine and next to it was the espresso grinder. Rows and rows of flavored syrups were lined up against a mirror, just like alcoholic drink in a bar. The young girl would make the identical drink over and over for herself. Her drink was a raw sienna mocha with and especial(a) shot of espresso and just enough means on reach for the whip crème. One whitethorn have to hunch forward coffee terms to understand this but I have worked in one for years.

        So absorbed was I in studying my surroundings, that I barley adage a boy walk in from the now downpour of rain. With him he carried a leather guitar case covered in stickers of various bands. Without even being told he set up and started strumming away on the acoustic guitar. Slow melodious notes that seemed tragic and depressed, as if the guitar was crying, echoed done the half full coffee shop. He was totally fixated on his playing. After each song the girl behind the counter would quietly applaud, sometimes her claps being the besides ones. She stared at him, and it was in truth the first time this girl ever looked interested in anything. She kept bringing him hot coffee, ii sugars and one crème. He would hold it between his turn over as if he were trying to warm them up.         When the rain had let up I decided it was time fo r me to go. I packed up my books and things put on ! my rain jacket and behind walked towards the door. As I got closer to the door I sight all of the posters for various concerts going on in the topical anaesthetic venues. I had friends in some of the bands on the posters. If you want to procedure a full essay, order it on our website: BestEssayCheap.com

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