Know Your Barista

It is night but it is not dark. It is the darkest, hottest part of the day when nothing is getting done. Looming, it casts shadows in inky fingers reaching for children's hearts. It is the chocolate milk in your 3 pm breakfast cereal. I thought you had a plan but what are you doing sitting here at 3 in the afternoon eating breakfast without a plan? Did you have a plan? This is not condusive to anything and in half an hour you'll curse the internet for the time waster that it is and be no further ahead. You're too much of a snob to go to anybody else's coffee shop to write in spite of the atmosphere. Atmosphere. And what the fuck is condusive to writing really? On a day off you dream of pulling espresso and it's the half finished written word that is intimidating. Don't deny that. It's summer. It's beautiful outside. It's this that and the next and .... not condusive to writing? You've heard of ominous blank pages confining writers to their beds for weeks at a stretch. But these pages aren't blank. You've written them. You've sketched the characters and now you just need to fill in their colours. But like every good summer affair with that Tool-fan co-worker that is doomed..... well, we fucked and it wasn't as good as with you, my love, and I was disappointed and then he didn't call me back the fucker and now I feel like shit because it wasn't even as fun as it should have been..... oh that's right. You gave that up. Now you only write about it. So predictable. Boring. Dull. The story never changes - find someone to love everywhere to avoid and it never works out but that's okay because flings rock that way. You can walk away. I am not your whore. Never was. Go fuck yourself. But what of this life, this stagnation that is not condusive to writing? Well it's not that exactly. It's just that....