I played into the whole unemployed artist image today and spent the afternoon at a coffeeshop. I always feel a little out of my element surrounded by the college kids and old Italian men that are the staples of Elmwood, a little daunted by the sneering, liberal posters. But the chairs at Cafe Aroma are comfortable and the mugs are clean and the snobbish air of the place is slightly undercut by the smell of Whoppers.
And I sat and dodged the bees and the Omigod-That-Weird-Guy, and gossipped happily and sillily. But there must be something in the village water because as the tea cooled the conversation got heated and turned to politics, and the rise and fall of our voices started to sound annoyingly appropriate to the environment. I didn't realize this until the guy next to us made a snort of disagreement into his mahi concoction, at which point I fell silent and abashed.
And took the next opportunity to swear as dirtily and creatively as I could.
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