One cigarette, six coffees

What I need is just one good evening with a very good friend, about six cups of coffee and my first cigarette in a week. Collete and I met up at the local art-house cafe; she came with every intention to finish some algebra homework, but our boisterous laughter and gossiping shooed away any attempt to study. She tells me how this town falls apart when I leave, that people aren't what they appear to be and they are doing all the things that they shouldn't be doing. I tell her not to worry too much, people are never what you'd expect them to be...leave them alone with their flaws because at some point we have probably disillusioned someone else. We sit outside as the sun drips further down the horizon-line...our clothes covered in cigarette ashes and sunlight. It occurred to me that I love this little place in its entirety. I love the fact that Im a stone's throw away from anyone that I know, that everyone is as broke as I am yet still manages to make the best of their time, the local hang-out joints and petty drama, the wanna be hipsters, the actual hipsters, the maddening wind that doesn't allow you to have nice hair, and the handful of people who miss you when you haven't been around to brighten their day.

My third cup of coffee for the evening...probably not a good idea right before I hit the gym.