I wish I drank coffee. I always see them, these coffee drinkers, walking around with their little paper cups of coffee, and I really want to be one of them, be a part of their world. I feel like I am missing out on something. I don’t know exactly what and that mystery is what’s so appealing. Everyone everywhere getting their coffee, putting all sorts of stuff in it, cream and sugar and milk and god knows what else. They have coffee brains and coffee lives and I want that, too!
I also want to be a smoker. All over the place people are smoking. They always seem so desperate and neurotic and since I’m desperate and neurotic, I should be with them, huddling against the cold, puffing away with abandon.
Unfortunately, the taste of coffee does not agree with my choosy palate and cigarettes offend my delicate sensibilities, causing me to vomit uncontrollably.
But I just know I would be a better writer if I were a coffee drinker and a smoker. I just know it. Lousy taste buds and delicate sensibilities. You are ruining my life.
- Sexual Healing.
- Talkie Walkie.