It's been awhile since I took the bus through Pasadena. Research for my novel usually takes me downtown, and my usual haunts are in Glendale. But I was supposed to meet an old friend today, and this was more convenient for her.
I got off the bus at Colorado and Fair Oaks, walking south. There's a bridal shop at Green that caught my eye, and I paused at a window to look at a dress, wondering how she would look in white. If things had gone different, I might have proposed. As it is, I'm a little miffed that she didn't send me an invitation; I could have scored a dance with a bridesmaid. In any case, I was surprised to hear from her, even if her marriage didn't work out.
I walked on to the next shop over, a squat little cafe that was dwarfed by the surrounding buildings. Through the windows, I could see that space was at a premium, but it looked comfortable enough with a sofa and coffee table taking up the corner just to the right of the door. The left side had five small tables, two of which were pushed together so a study group could spread their books out. And through the windowed door on the opposite corner of the sofa, I could see a small patio area with a fountain outside. Looks nice enough, but even with the breeze, I didn't feel like being out in the sun.
The barista looked busy, but took the time to set aside what he was doing to take my order. I asked for a white mocha, on the rocks, and was pleasantly surprised with the price. He went to work immediately as I slipped a dollar into the tip jar and looked around for a seat.
Glancing around the room, I decided on a spot on the wall by the window. I might have picked the table in front if not for the sun; I wanted to see her coming. The speaker up in the corner behind me was streaming out a slow Latin mix, songs about love, passion, and desire. Thankfully, it was low enough for the chatter among the students at the other table to drown it out.
The counter was stocked with a few pastries, parfaits, as well as a small sampling of fresh fruit. The oranges looked especially inviting, but I'd rather not get juice on my tie. The chalk board behind the counter showed an expansive menu of hot and cold coffee, tea, and some sandwiches as well, although the prices weren't listed. If the price of a drink was anything to go by, I doubt they would break the bank.
The place was suddenly enveloped in shadow as the sun dipped behind the building across the street. It took only a moment for my eyes to adjust, the overhead lighting providing enough illumination. As cozy as this place was, I could imagine taking a date here. It might prove problematic if I were to bring my laptop, as the power outlets seemed concentrated close to the counter and over by the sofas. There didn't seem to be any at the corner I've taken up, but then a notepad and pen don't need a charge.
It was only about two to three minutes from placing my order when the barista dropped off my drink at the table. It wasn't the best white mocha I've had, but it's up there, and the price is certainly right. There are few things as enjoyable as a cool drink on a warm day, and I took my time savoring it.
About twenty minutes, and five stanzas later, I looked up from my notebook when my phone buzzed with a text message. I took it out, my eyes flicking over the screen before darting to the window. She used to be a dirty blonde, but her hair was now a reddish brown, coming down past her shoulders. It went well with her green eyes, and in looking at her white sundress, I was starting to get an idea about that musing I had earlier. She beckoned to me with her fingers, and I tucked my notebook into my back pocket, finishing my coffee in one last sip.
Before I left, I made a quick stop at the counter to pick up a card, a white one that said Cafe Alibi in silver lettering with the address on the bottom. If things go well, I might see her again. And this place is close enough to Old Town to grab a coffee before a dinner date. I'll be crossing my fingers, but I'm not holding my breath. Green eyes are always trouble.
Cafe Alibi: 84 S Fair Oaks Ave, Pasadena, CA
(626) 578-7779
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Occupational Hazards
There was a tall brunette at the front of the line, one that was getting longer by the minute. She seemed to have trouble making up her mind, asking questions about the pastries, the kinds of drinks among other things. Perhaps she didn't see the menu. It only took up a whole wall while being illuminated by a trio of spot lights. Rather hard to miss unless you were looking directly at it. The guy behind the counter must have gotten a double serving of patience when they dished it out.
I took the opportunity to look the place over again. From the outside, it looked like the kind of house your grandmother might live in. A short iron fence out front with steps leading up to a windowed porch, beyond which lay the entrance proper. It lead to a lounge area that may have been a living room at some point but was currently divided by a wooden archway that lead to the counter. It still looked like a living room with the couches and a coffee table there, even though there were a pair of smaller tables set up as well.
The left side had a couple of doorways leading into more seating areas. They may have been bedrooms at some point in the past. It looked cozy enough, and semi-private in case one had brought a date. And just perfect for some different activities that I might get to later, but for now they were occupied by students with their noses in their laptops.
To the right of the counter was the door out to the patio. I would guess it served as a smoking section as well. I didn't go outside to check. I couldn't smell anything, but there was a sign over the counter advertising their hookahs. Not my style. I'm an asthmatic.
Meanwhile, the lady kept hemming, hawing, and the barista never once lost his cool. I would never have been able to stand it back when I was working retail. He handled the situation with a cool reserve and good humor enough to get her through her order without causing a riot. Then my turn came.
I took a quick glance at the specials and ordered an Irish White Mocha. On the rocks. Handing over a five, I tossed the change into the tip jar, and sent another quick glance to a door to my left. The room looked empty, but there was someone with a laptop at a table just inside the door. A little inconvenient, but there was still time.
Taking a seat on the sofa along the wall, I set my bag down and pulled out my laptop. With company coming, it'd be best to set things up beforehand. I'm used to doing interviews with a tape recorder but my trusty Ghetto Blaster (my nickname for a cassette recorder that's older than I am) gave out on me just a few weeks ago. Although my laptop is equipped with a built in webcam and microphone. Convenient. And this room should provide decent acoustics when she arrives as well. Even with the busy counter just outside the doorway, it was still fairly quiet.
As I set up the recording software, I feel a slight stiffness in my fingers. I'm a little apprehensive about this one. Any kind of research has it's risks. Sometimes its rather fun. And sometimes I start to wonder if perhaps I'm getting in a little over my head. This subject in particular has made a living off of scams, cons, and quite a bit of handiwork. It's the latter that had me intrigued more than anything else, but this one smells like trouble. And she has green eyes. That's trouble enough on it's own, but I guess I've only myself to blame.
After testing the recorder, I set my hat next to the computer and opened up my manuscript, working on tightening up a few chapters. The barista came over a few minutes later with my cup. As hot as it was today, the creamy coolness of the drink was a welcome respite. Perhaps a bit too welcome, I was halfway finished from the first sip alone. As refreshing as it was, I'd like to savor it for a bit.
Half an hour later, I was down another page on my manuscript and the guy by the door had packed up and left, leaving me alone in the room. However it was only a couple of minutes more before my subject had arrived. She walked in with an even step, her eyes gazing at me with a cool confidence. She was dressed for the warm weather in a black camisole top with a white sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. I caught myself trying to decide if her air conditioned jeans came with the holes or if she was the type to let them wear out naturally before my civility reasserted itself and I stood to greet her.
She was tall enough to stare straight into my shoulders if she looked right at me. If one were to judge by her willowy form, it might be hard to discern her duplicitous lifestyle. As it was, she looked just like any other college kid in the joint, right down to her flip flops. I guess that's what made her so effective.
I lifted her hand and made a small bow, looking at her over her knuckles. She looked good as a carrot top. I remarked upon her change in hair color, asking if it had something to do with her occupation. She said she just felt like a change. Though she did get the self-coloring product via her usual methods. Although I'm not at liberty to say what those are.
When I sat back down on the sofa, she slid right up next to me and looked at my laptop. I asked if she minded a recording. She did. So I put my laptop away and pulled out my notepad and pen. While I would've liked a record to take notes off of later, it wouldn't be the first time I've done an old school interview. It's just not my favorite way of doing it.
While I was more interested in the technical details of her "work", I couldn't help but ask a few background questions, as well as for some personal details. Something she wasn't too shy about sharing. Hers is a story much like any other, a simple girl trying to get by in the world. Except while some take up a part time job for those little extras in life, she prefers a more direct approach. And while it's not something I can condone or sympathize with, I did feel some empathy with her reasoning, even if flawed.
As caught up as I was in the interview, it took me awhile to notice. But before long, she had inched her way along the sofa to the point where her knee was pressed against mine. As I was taking in her words, her face came right up towards mine with her eyes staring at me from across the notepad in my left palm which suddenly felt rather sweaty.
I blinked, feeling my eyes firm up with the realization of our positioning. Pausing in my questioning, I cocked a stern eyebrow at her when a bespectacled blond girl stumbled at the doorway. She might have gotten the wrong idea as she fumbled a bit upon turning round, likely in search of a different place to sit. I looked back at my green eyed subject and followed the curve of her arm, which had found it's way behind me as we were talking. She gave me a sheepish smile as she showed me black object in her hand. I plucked it from her fingers, replaced it in it's usual spot, and challenged her to try that again. She got me three more times before the interview was over.
As she got up to leave, I made a thorough check of my wallet ensuring everything was in it's place before handing her a business card. I don't think I'll have any more questions for her, but there's still the matter of compensation, something that will have to wait until next week. I think a nice Italian dinner is a fair trade, though I'm wondering if she might instead go for Chinese.
Lifting my hat from the table, I settle it firmly on my head, picked up my bag, and started out wondering if perhaps I should start keeping my wallet in my front pocket again.
Today's Setting: http://zephyrcoffeeandart.com/
I took the opportunity to look the place over again. From the outside, it looked like the kind of house your grandmother might live in. A short iron fence out front with steps leading up to a windowed porch, beyond which lay the entrance proper. It lead to a lounge area that may have been a living room at some point but was currently divided by a wooden archway that lead to the counter. It still looked like a living room with the couches and a coffee table there, even though there were a pair of smaller tables set up as well.
The left side had a couple of doorways leading into more seating areas. They may have been bedrooms at some point in the past. It looked cozy enough, and semi-private in case one had brought a date. And just perfect for some different activities that I might get to later, but for now they were occupied by students with their noses in their laptops.
To the right of the counter was the door out to the patio. I would guess it served as a smoking section as well. I didn't go outside to check. I couldn't smell anything, but there was a sign over the counter advertising their hookahs. Not my style. I'm an asthmatic.
Meanwhile, the lady kept hemming, hawing, and the barista never once lost his cool. I would never have been able to stand it back when I was working retail. He handled the situation with a cool reserve and good humor enough to get her through her order without causing a riot. Then my turn came.
I took a quick glance at the specials and ordered an Irish White Mocha. On the rocks. Handing over a five, I tossed the change into the tip jar, and sent another quick glance to a door to my left. The room looked empty, but there was someone with a laptop at a table just inside the door. A little inconvenient, but there was still time.
Taking a seat on the sofa along the wall, I set my bag down and pulled out my laptop. With company coming, it'd be best to set things up beforehand. I'm used to doing interviews with a tape recorder but my trusty Ghetto Blaster (my nickname for a cassette recorder that's older than I am) gave out on me just a few weeks ago. Although my laptop is equipped with a built in webcam and microphone. Convenient. And this room should provide decent acoustics when she arrives as well. Even with the busy counter just outside the doorway, it was still fairly quiet.
As I set up the recording software, I feel a slight stiffness in my fingers. I'm a little apprehensive about this one. Any kind of research has it's risks. Sometimes its rather fun. And sometimes I start to wonder if perhaps I'm getting in a little over my head. This subject in particular has made a living off of scams, cons, and quite a bit of handiwork. It's the latter that had me intrigued more than anything else, but this one smells like trouble. And she has green eyes. That's trouble enough on it's own, but I guess I've only myself to blame.
After testing the recorder, I set my hat next to the computer and opened up my manuscript, working on tightening up a few chapters. The barista came over a few minutes later with my cup. As hot as it was today, the creamy coolness of the drink was a welcome respite. Perhaps a bit too welcome, I was halfway finished from the first sip alone. As refreshing as it was, I'd like to savor it for a bit.
Half an hour later, I was down another page on my manuscript and the guy by the door had packed up and left, leaving me alone in the room. However it was only a couple of minutes more before my subject had arrived. She walked in with an even step, her eyes gazing at me with a cool confidence. She was dressed for the warm weather in a black camisole top with a white sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. I caught myself trying to decide if her air conditioned jeans came with the holes or if she was the type to let them wear out naturally before my civility reasserted itself and I stood to greet her.
She was tall enough to stare straight into my shoulders if she looked right at me. If one were to judge by her willowy form, it might be hard to discern her duplicitous lifestyle. As it was, she looked just like any other college kid in the joint, right down to her flip flops. I guess that's what made her so effective.
I lifted her hand and made a small bow, looking at her over her knuckles. She looked good as a carrot top. I remarked upon her change in hair color, asking if it had something to do with her occupation. She said she just felt like a change. Though she did get the self-coloring product via her usual methods. Although I'm not at liberty to say what those are.
When I sat back down on the sofa, she slid right up next to me and looked at my laptop. I asked if she minded a recording. She did. So I put my laptop away and pulled out my notepad and pen. While I would've liked a record to take notes off of later, it wouldn't be the first time I've done an old school interview. It's just not my favorite way of doing it.
While I was more interested in the technical details of her "work", I couldn't help but ask a few background questions, as well as for some personal details. Something she wasn't too shy about sharing. Hers is a story much like any other, a simple girl trying to get by in the world. Except while some take up a part time job for those little extras in life, she prefers a more direct approach. And while it's not something I can condone or sympathize with, I did feel some empathy with her reasoning, even if flawed.
As caught up as I was in the interview, it took me awhile to notice. But before long, she had inched her way along the sofa to the point where her knee was pressed against mine. As I was taking in her words, her face came right up towards mine with her eyes staring at me from across the notepad in my left palm which suddenly felt rather sweaty.
I blinked, feeling my eyes firm up with the realization of our positioning. Pausing in my questioning, I cocked a stern eyebrow at her when a bespectacled blond girl stumbled at the doorway. She might have gotten the wrong idea as she fumbled a bit upon turning round, likely in search of a different place to sit. I looked back at my green eyed subject and followed the curve of her arm, which had found it's way behind me as we were talking. She gave me a sheepish smile as she showed me black object in her hand. I plucked it from her fingers, replaced it in it's usual spot, and challenged her to try that again. She got me three more times before the interview was over.
As she got up to leave, I made a thorough check of my wallet ensuring everything was in it's place before handing her a business card. I don't think I'll have any more questions for her, but there's still the matter of compensation, something that will have to wait until next week. I think a nice Italian dinner is a fair trade, though I'm wondering if she might instead go for Chinese.
Lifting my hat from the table, I settle it firmly on my head, picked up my bag, and started out wondering if perhaps I should start keeping my wallet in my front pocket again.
Today's Setting: http://zephyrcoffeeandart.com/
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A New Challenger Approaches
Looking across the street I had to admit that the sight of those teenagers hanging around outside the place made me wary. Maybe it's the generation gap. Granted it's only been five years since I was a teenager, but they looked like creatures from another world, particularly the guys wearing what appeared to be their little sisters pants. Do fads really change that much in five years?
Luckily the entrance was along the side of the building. I quickly stepped in and lifted my hat up a bit to savor the air conditioning. It was a small room. The coffee table and sofa along the wall dominated most of the space. There were also a pair of tables along the opposite wall and along the window as well. The display case stood tall, sectioning off almost the entire back part of the room, leaving only a small corridor for the register, counter top, and the connecting door to the Rock community center.
The rafters in the ceiling were visible, which fit well with the bare brick wall along one side. It almost felt like a set piece for a 90's TV show, but gave the room a cozy enough atmosphere. I would expect it to be crowded after the local schools let out but as it's been a few hours since it was rather empty.
The flat screen TV along one wall was muffled by the sounds of a local rock station emanating from hidden speakers. At least I didn't see them on my first glance. It also served to drown out much of the noise from the open door to the community center. Thankfully. Still, looking through the window at the pool table and computers they had, I was starting to wonder why I didn't have a place like that when I was in high school.
I had stumbled across this place last week on the way home from the barber shop. I was half out of it from the walk and the hot sun overhead when I saw the brilliant display atop the building. I thought it was a mirage but decided to chance it anyway. When I made it inside, I asked the guy at the counter for a white mocha. I was stunned when he asked me if I wanted it "on the rocks". Finally! Someone who speaks my language! The first sip was pure bliss as well, which was why I had to come back again today.
There was a different guy behind the counter this time. He needed some clarification as to what on the rocks meant, but he didn't do a bad job at all. They definitely have some quality talent working here. And judging by the display case, some delicious looking pastries as well. I would've picked a cheese danish, but I'm trying to watch my waistline.
From the chat I overheard the last time I was here, it seems 50% of the proceeds to go the community center. I'm surprised they're able to price their drinks competitively and still manage to keep the place open when making that much of a donation.
While I was waiting for my drink, I noticed a chess board had been set up on the coffee table. I figured it was abandoned and commandeered the spot, noticing the box for it under the table. There were a few other games under there as well, so I guess it's the property of the establishment. It's been awhile since I've played, so I figured I may as well get some practice against myself since there didn't seem to be anyone else around at that moment.
A few minutes later, I had my black queen pinned between a knight and a hard place when an eager young man came in from the other room and poised himself behind the chair in front and to my left with his camera, readying for a shot. I think he even clicked one off before asking for permission, saying I just "looked cool". I'm not usually one for getting my picture taken by a complete stranger, but I was young once. And he must have been going through his artistic phase. Besides, who doesn't like looking cool?
Without looking up from the board, I shrugged and said "Sure, go ahead". I still tipped my hat a bit forward over my eyes. I sometimes get strange reactions when I wear a wide brim, but this was the first time someone wanted to take my picture over it. I couldn't think of another reason for it at least.
He left just as suddenly as he came, leaving me alone to finish my game. I was about to put the black king into check when another youth came in to check out what I was doing, taking a seat across from me. His dark eyes scanned the board, and he paid rapt attention to my moves.
If it's one thing I dislike more than playing against myself, it's being watched while I do it. Turning the board around, I reset the pieces and asked if he wanted to play. He accepted my offer and decided to play as black. Which was fine by me, although I'm used to being on the defensive.
I started by occupying the center squares right away. Back in seventh grade, my science teacher had taught me the four move checkmate. He didn't really teach how to block it, that was something I learned on my own. When I took the center, the boy cleared the path for his bishop. Just like my old teacher had done.
The strategy I made up to defeat this maneuver is a little something my friend Travis likes to call The Pawn Phalanx. At least that's what he dubbed it after I had beaten him in a few games. By using my pawns to back each other up, his bishop cannot penetrate to my king. And it leaves a rather cluttered field, allowing my pieces to defend each other up from many angles. It's not a perfect strategy, but it's good enough to beat novices.
I took a sip from my cup as the kid contemplated his next move. In a few minutes, I had already had his king on the run. But he showed promise, keeping my queen under pressure. And he made short work of my second one when I was able to promote a pawn. But with my stronger positioning, I was able to fork his king between my queen and a rook. He wasn't the type to accept defeat lightly, it seemed. He eagerly accepted a rematch.
Four games later and he was called away by a young girl, presumably his little sister. Smart kid, but he could use some more experience to help him think outside the box. Somehow, in spite of the odd fashion trends, I don't think that will be as much of a problem for his generation as it seemed to be for mine. All anyone really needs is just room to learn and grow.
A buzzing from my phone snapped me from my thoughts, and I pulled it from my pocket to check the new text message. There's this Italian place that isn't too far from here, but I never really had the opportunity to check it out. Apparently I'm not the only one anxious to try it out, as an acquaintance of mine is asking if I would accompany her. I was never one to turn down a good meal. Particularly if the company is good.
I reset the board, leaving the pieces as I found them, poised to do battle once again. I wonder how long it'll take before someone else takes it up. I lifted my hat to soak in as much of the air conditioning as I could before clapping it back on and walking back into the fading summer sun.
Eagles Landing Coffee House
4808 Townsend Ave, Los Angeles, CA
(323) 257-6102
Luckily the entrance was along the side of the building. I quickly stepped in and lifted my hat up a bit to savor the air conditioning. It was a small room. The coffee table and sofa along the wall dominated most of the space. There were also a pair of tables along the opposite wall and along the window as well. The display case stood tall, sectioning off almost the entire back part of the room, leaving only a small corridor for the register, counter top, and the connecting door to the Rock community center.
The rafters in the ceiling were visible, which fit well with the bare brick wall along one side. It almost felt like a set piece for a 90's TV show, but gave the room a cozy enough atmosphere. I would expect it to be crowded after the local schools let out but as it's been a few hours since it was rather empty.
The flat screen TV along one wall was muffled by the sounds of a local rock station emanating from hidden speakers. At least I didn't see them on my first glance. It also served to drown out much of the noise from the open door to the community center. Thankfully. Still, looking through the window at the pool table and computers they had, I was starting to wonder why I didn't have a place like that when I was in high school.
I had stumbled across this place last week on the way home from the barber shop. I was half out of it from the walk and the hot sun overhead when I saw the brilliant display atop the building. I thought it was a mirage but decided to chance it anyway. When I made it inside, I asked the guy at the counter for a white mocha. I was stunned when he asked me if I wanted it "on the rocks". Finally! Someone who speaks my language! The first sip was pure bliss as well, which was why I had to come back again today.
There was a different guy behind the counter this time. He needed some clarification as to what on the rocks meant, but he didn't do a bad job at all. They definitely have some quality talent working here. And judging by the display case, some delicious looking pastries as well. I would've picked a cheese danish, but I'm trying to watch my waistline.
From the chat I overheard the last time I was here, it seems 50% of the proceeds to go the community center. I'm surprised they're able to price their drinks competitively and still manage to keep the place open when making that much of a donation.
While I was waiting for my drink, I noticed a chess board had been set up on the coffee table. I figured it was abandoned and commandeered the spot, noticing the box for it under the table. There were a few other games under there as well, so I guess it's the property of the establishment. It's been awhile since I've played, so I figured I may as well get some practice against myself since there didn't seem to be anyone else around at that moment.
A few minutes later, I had my black queen pinned between a knight and a hard place when an eager young man came in from the other room and poised himself behind the chair in front and to my left with his camera, readying for a shot. I think he even clicked one off before asking for permission, saying I just "looked cool". I'm not usually one for getting my picture taken by a complete stranger, but I was young once. And he must have been going through his artistic phase. Besides, who doesn't like looking cool?
Without looking up from the board, I shrugged and said "Sure, go ahead". I still tipped my hat a bit forward over my eyes. I sometimes get strange reactions when I wear a wide brim, but this was the first time someone wanted to take my picture over it. I couldn't think of another reason for it at least.
He left just as suddenly as he came, leaving me alone to finish my game. I was about to put the black king into check when another youth came in to check out what I was doing, taking a seat across from me. His dark eyes scanned the board, and he paid rapt attention to my moves.
If it's one thing I dislike more than playing against myself, it's being watched while I do it. Turning the board around, I reset the pieces and asked if he wanted to play. He accepted my offer and decided to play as black. Which was fine by me, although I'm used to being on the defensive.
I started by occupying the center squares right away. Back in seventh grade, my science teacher had taught me the four move checkmate. He didn't really teach how to block it, that was something I learned on my own. When I took the center, the boy cleared the path for his bishop. Just like my old teacher had done.
The strategy I made up to defeat this maneuver is a little something my friend Travis likes to call The Pawn Phalanx. At least that's what he dubbed it after I had beaten him in a few games. By using my pawns to back each other up, his bishop cannot penetrate to my king. And it leaves a rather cluttered field, allowing my pieces to defend each other up from many angles. It's not a perfect strategy, but it's good enough to beat novices.
I took a sip from my cup as the kid contemplated his next move. In a few minutes, I had already had his king on the run. But he showed promise, keeping my queen under pressure. And he made short work of my second one when I was able to promote a pawn. But with my stronger positioning, I was able to fork his king between my queen and a rook. He wasn't the type to accept defeat lightly, it seemed. He eagerly accepted a rematch.
Four games later and he was called away by a young girl, presumably his little sister. Smart kid, but he could use some more experience to help him think outside the box. Somehow, in spite of the odd fashion trends, I don't think that will be as much of a problem for his generation as it seemed to be for mine. All anyone really needs is just room to learn and grow.
A buzzing from my phone snapped me from my thoughts, and I pulled it from my pocket to check the new text message. There's this Italian place that isn't too far from here, but I never really had the opportunity to check it out. Apparently I'm not the only one anxious to try it out, as an acquaintance of mine is asking if I would accompany her. I was never one to turn down a good meal. Particularly if the company is good.
I reset the board, leaving the pieces as I found them, poised to do battle once again. I wonder how long it'll take before someone else takes it up. I lifted my hat to soak in as much of the air conditioning as I could before clapping it back on and walking back into the fading summer sun.
Eagles Landing Coffee House
4808 Townsend Ave, Los Angeles, CA
(323) 257-6102
Thursday, August 6, 2009
The Waiting Game
She had called me while I was on the bus, asking if I wanted to hang out today. I was already halfway to the coffee shop, and that was alright with her. It's where we first met, after all, so it'll feel almost nostalgic to see her there again. She had asked me for a pen. One thing led to another, and we ended up swapping phone numbers. Still, it's been over a month and we haven't even had a proper date yet. Maybe that'll change today.
After I hung up, I had to lift up my hat and mop my forehead off with a bandanna. The summer heat wasn't too bad as I stepped off the bus, but being dressed as I was, it was starting to feel a little stifling. Especially under the backpack I had slung over my shoulder. I guess a black button down shirt with a silver tie isn't proper attire for the season, but I'm uncomfortable in short sleeves. Which was another reason why I found myself walking down Maryland today. The tall buildings provided enough shade to keep things cool as I made my way to a familiar spot.
The tables outside of the Urartu cafe were manned by smokers, not an uncommon sight in this town. Luckily there was only a light smell of tobacco. I barely had a whiff as I passed on through the glass doors. Inside was noticeably cooler than the atmosphere on the sidewalk, and I was relieved to see a familiar face behind the counter.
When it comes to places like this, the baristas can make or break the experience. Some places seem to specialize in nonchalant aloofness whereas others encourage their employees to smile with enough corporate enthusiasm to seem very uncanny valley. This cafe is staffed by a tall, jovial fellow with an accent slightly reminiscent of Bela Lugosi. He also makes a great white chocolate mocha.
After ordering my usual, on the rocks, he waves toward the tables, prompting me to pick a spot while he says he'll "... bring it right over". Setting up my laptop, I remembered another reason why I like this place so much: Free internet access. This cafe has a wireless access point that provides a decent bandwidth unencumbered by login screens, passwords, or charge by the minute and/or hour services. All that's required is the cost of a beverage, which was hand delivered by the time my laptop had booted up. He also has a few desktops set up for customer use, and at a reasonable price as well. The sandwiches aren't bad either.
It's pretty quiet here today, as it usually is. There's one regular in a straw hat seated in the niche by the window, which is usually my favorite spot when I'm here alone. He certainly has a perfect view of the place. The air conditioning is turned low, not enough to chill the place but it was comfortable. The dim orange lighting adds to the relaxed atmosphere, almost overpowered by the sunlight reflected off the buildings across the street.
When it comes to coffee shops, the atmosphere is as much a drawing point as the drinks. This place is definitely a neighborhood establishment, with a steady number of regulars staked out, but it's close enough to the Glendale Galleria and the Americana to draw in some fresh faces as well. It's also a good place to study, as evidenced by the gaggle of students that usually assemble on the couches by the window with their notes and laptops sprawled across the coffee table. Despite the number of bodies that can gather both outside and in, the atmosphere is always relaxed and quiet. Perfect for a writer like myself.
Looking out the window, there didn't seem to be too many people out to brave the sun, but there were enough to make it interesting. There was one girl that walked by wearing a dress that looked like an upside down tulip with a slight flare around her hips. It was rather short, and looked ridiculous, but she had the legs for it. I was also staring to notice a trend of girls in white sun dresses. Not a bad look at all for the season, and it's probably cool as well. Still, some were just sheer enough for one to notice a little more than the outline of what was underneath.
This is starting to worry me. Any other guy would just enjoy the view. I'm probably the only one that takes it in and thinks "Whatever happened to a little thing called a slip?" Not that I'm complaining, but modesty seems to be a rare trait these days. I kind of like to leave a little to the imagination. What do you know? I guess I am complaining after all.
Looking away from the window, I reached over for my cup and put the straw to my lips. The first sip is always the best. Sometimes you get a drink where they're a little heavy on the syrup, which can prove for a nice little jolt initially. Other times it's too light, where the espresso overpowers the other flavors. But here, it's almost always perfection. The coolness of the ice mixed with the smooth white chocolate had me feeling very relaxed in an instant. At least until she called me again.
She said she'd only be a few minutes more. It was a short talk, which was understandable. The cops are likely to pull you over these days for talking on a cell phone while driving, even if you're using a headset. And with her driving record, it's best for her to be careful.
I couldn't help the sigh as I slipped my phone back into it's pocket. It's always a girl with green eyes. Not that I had noticed when I first met her, but it was apparent soon enough. I'm starting to wonder if it's a curse with me. Green eyes are always trouble. Sometimes I don't mind a bit of trouble, but one pair in particular had proven to be too much. I wonder if that will be the case this time.
Speaking of green eyes, I'm surprised I hadn't noticed this girl earlier. She was seated at a table in front of me. A dirty blond, not too tall, but had a lithe figure that suited her. I'll admit to being a bit nosy when I glanced over at the screen of her laptop. It looked like she was working on an outline for an essay when her screen went blank. A few repeated attempts to revive her machine proved fruitless, but she caught the attention of the barista, who not only allowed her to use the cafe's computers, but also went in the back to retrieve some fresh ink cartridges so she could print out her assignment as well. Now that is quality service.
I tried not to stare as I typed away on my keyboard. Still, every so often my eyes would flip over the top of my screen at her. Sure, I was waiting for someone, but it's not like we were in a relationship or anything. A date is an audition of sorts, a tryout. It's been a month, and even with a few phone calls and a quick lunch here or there, I haven't really felt that spark with her. Perhaps that's why my eyes were fixated on someone else right now, and another girl with green eyes at that. With that thought, I lifted my hat a bit and lowered the brim a touch over my eyes.
Before I knew it, another hour had passed, and the green eyed girl before me had walked out the door. The one I was waiting on had yet to arrive. My cup was drained down to a few ice cubes and half a watery dollop of whipped cream. I was tempted to get a refill, but the day was wearing on. I figured I'd give her another twenty minutes to call before I decided what to do. In the meantime, I had a chapter that needed an ending.
An hour later had me stuffing my laptop in my backpack. She still hadn't called, and I got her voice mail half an hour earlier when I tried. With the same result twenty minutes after that. I was actually looking forward to seeing her, but at this point I had to face facts. I've been stood up.
I rose from my seat, swinging the bag over my shoulders, and gave a wave to the barista behind the counter. He returned it, calling out “I'll see you next time!” He probably would.
As I was stepping through the door, I nearly ran into a tall young lady in jeans and a blue sweatshirt who looked to be about nineteen or twenty. There were blond streaks in her chestnut hair. It framed her face rather nicely, complimenting her brown eyes. I stood there looking at her for an instant before I came to my senses. I stepped to the side with a tip of my hat, allowing her to pass into the cafe.
For a moment, I thought about following her in. I wouldn't have minded another mocha, and I might have better luck with brown eyes than green. The one mistake I made was standing there for too long. The moment had passed. I reached up to adjust my hat before starting down the sidewalk.
Urartu Coffee: http://www.urartucoffee.com
After I hung up, I had to lift up my hat and mop my forehead off with a bandanna. The summer heat wasn't too bad as I stepped off the bus, but being dressed as I was, it was starting to feel a little stifling. Especially under the backpack I had slung over my shoulder. I guess a black button down shirt with a silver tie isn't proper attire for the season, but I'm uncomfortable in short sleeves. Which was another reason why I found myself walking down Maryland today. The tall buildings provided enough shade to keep things cool as I made my way to a familiar spot.
The tables outside of the Urartu cafe were manned by smokers, not an uncommon sight in this town. Luckily there was only a light smell of tobacco. I barely had a whiff as I passed on through the glass doors. Inside was noticeably cooler than the atmosphere on the sidewalk, and I was relieved to see a familiar face behind the counter.
When it comes to places like this, the baristas can make or break the experience. Some places seem to specialize in nonchalant aloofness whereas others encourage their employees to smile with enough corporate enthusiasm to seem very uncanny valley. This cafe is staffed by a tall, jovial fellow with an accent slightly reminiscent of Bela Lugosi. He also makes a great white chocolate mocha.
After ordering my usual, on the rocks, he waves toward the tables, prompting me to pick a spot while he says he'll "... bring it right over". Setting up my laptop, I remembered another reason why I like this place so much: Free internet access. This cafe has a wireless access point that provides a decent bandwidth unencumbered by login screens, passwords, or charge by the minute and/or hour services. All that's required is the cost of a beverage, which was hand delivered by the time my laptop had booted up. He also has a few desktops set up for customer use, and at a reasonable price as well. The sandwiches aren't bad either.
It's pretty quiet here today, as it usually is. There's one regular in a straw hat seated in the niche by the window, which is usually my favorite spot when I'm here alone. He certainly has a perfect view of the place. The air conditioning is turned low, not enough to chill the place but it was comfortable. The dim orange lighting adds to the relaxed atmosphere, almost overpowered by the sunlight reflected off the buildings across the street.
When it comes to coffee shops, the atmosphere is as much a drawing point as the drinks. This place is definitely a neighborhood establishment, with a steady number of regulars staked out, but it's close enough to the Glendale Galleria and the Americana to draw in some fresh faces as well. It's also a good place to study, as evidenced by the gaggle of students that usually assemble on the couches by the window with their notes and laptops sprawled across the coffee table. Despite the number of bodies that can gather both outside and in, the atmosphere is always relaxed and quiet. Perfect for a writer like myself.
Looking out the window, there didn't seem to be too many people out to brave the sun, but there were enough to make it interesting. There was one girl that walked by wearing a dress that looked like an upside down tulip with a slight flare around her hips. It was rather short, and looked ridiculous, but she had the legs for it. I was also staring to notice a trend of girls in white sun dresses. Not a bad look at all for the season, and it's probably cool as well. Still, some were just sheer enough for one to notice a little more than the outline of what was underneath.
This is starting to worry me. Any other guy would just enjoy the view. I'm probably the only one that takes it in and thinks "Whatever happened to a little thing called a slip?" Not that I'm complaining, but modesty seems to be a rare trait these days. I kind of like to leave a little to the imagination. What do you know? I guess I am complaining after all.
Looking away from the window, I reached over for my cup and put the straw to my lips. The first sip is always the best. Sometimes you get a drink where they're a little heavy on the syrup, which can prove for a nice little jolt initially. Other times it's too light, where the espresso overpowers the other flavors. But here, it's almost always perfection. The coolness of the ice mixed with the smooth white chocolate had me feeling very relaxed in an instant. At least until she called me again.
She said she'd only be a few minutes more. It was a short talk, which was understandable. The cops are likely to pull you over these days for talking on a cell phone while driving, even if you're using a headset. And with her driving record, it's best for her to be careful.
I couldn't help the sigh as I slipped my phone back into it's pocket. It's always a girl with green eyes. Not that I had noticed when I first met her, but it was apparent soon enough. I'm starting to wonder if it's a curse with me. Green eyes are always trouble. Sometimes I don't mind a bit of trouble, but one pair in particular had proven to be too much. I wonder if that will be the case this time.
Speaking of green eyes, I'm surprised I hadn't noticed this girl earlier. She was seated at a table in front of me. A dirty blond, not too tall, but had a lithe figure that suited her. I'll admit to being a bit nosy when I glanced over at the screen of her laptop. It looked like she was working on an outline for an essay when her screen went blank. A few repeated attempts to revive her machine proved fruitless, but she caught the attention of the barista, who not only allowed her to use the cafe's computers, but also went in the back to retrieve some fresh ink cartridges so she could print out her assignment as well. Now that is quality service.
I tried not to stare as I typed away on my keyboard. Still, every so often my eyes would flip over the top of my screen at her. Sure, I was waiting for someone, but it's not like we were in a relationship or anything. A date is an audition of sorts, a tryout. It's been a month, and even with a few phone calls and a quick lunch here or there, I haven't really felt that spark with her. Perhaps that's why my eyes were fixated on someone else right now, and another girl with green eyes at that. With that thought, I lifted my hat a bit and lowered the brim a touch over my eyes.
Before I knew it, another hour had passed, and the green eyed girl before me had walked out the door. The one I was waiting on had yet to arrive. My cup was drained down to a few ice cubes and half a watery dollop of whipped cream. I was tempted to get a refill, but the day was wearing on. I figured I'd give her another twenty minutes to call before I decided what to do. In the meantime, I had a chapter that needed an ending.
An hour later had me stuffing my laptop in my backpack. She still hadn't called, and I got her voice mail half an hour earlier when I tried. With the same result twenty minutes after that. I was actually looking forward to seeing her, but at this point I had to face facts. I've been stood up.
I rose from my seat, swinging the bag over my shoulders, and gave a wave to the barista behind the counter. He returned it, calling out “I'll see you next time!” He probably would.
As I was stepping through the door, I nearly ran into a tall young lady in jeans and a blue sweatshirt who looked to be about nineteen or twenty. There were blond streaks in her chestnut hair. It framed her face rather nicely, complimenting her brown eyes. I stood there looking at her for an instant before I came to my senses. I stepped to the side with a tip of my hat, allowing her to pass into the cafe.
For a moment, I thought about following her in. I wouldn't have minded another mocha, and I might have better luck with brown eyes than green. The one mistake I made was standing there for too long. The moment had passed. I reached up to adjust my hat before starting down the sidewalk.
Urartu Coffee: http://www.urartucoffee.com
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