oh_aitch

posing

Tue, 05 Jan 2010 02:47:57 GMT

this is something i used to believe in dearly: posing by the wall to the left of my bedroom. this was the section that had the best lighting mid-morning, when everyone else that semester would be in class, or working. it was one of my favorite times in life.

i can recall throwing off my shoes at the foot of the bed, beside my favorite cds and putting on an awesome song and throwing on what i could call now a ridiculous article of clothing, a headband and some short shorts that probably your father or grandfather wore when he would have been not socially ostracized for such short shorts. i was a standalone seventies' revival. but i would pose in austere fashion.

my fingers would stand out straight, or entirely curled, as a chicken's slow clinching when pacing for food, scavenging with indiscretion. i tried my absolute best to address the camera head on; in fact, i would typically shatter the lens with an intense stare i was instructed to create, as intensity is not a natural attribute i possess. sadly, i went through three cameras before i had to settle on disposables, which had the tenacity to withstand my penetrating assessment of the audience yet to witness my pose, my fierce wall and the most impressive lighting in an unprofessional setting. my straight fingers had better results, i realise, now.

no one ever saw these posed stances. i credit this fact to my famous fastidiousness. you could probably afford to buy some of my fastidiousness because it is undervalued in today's societies. why, i bet that you could be my very buyer. yes, you, right now. fifty dollars.

i'll even throw in those photos.

back into view

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 01:58:33 GMT

uncle dead now, too, following a grandmother, a grandfather, another grandfather (about eighteen years ago), and my dreams. maybe my dreams are only deferred, but where the fuck does that leave these individuals? deference cannot last beyond tangible times, now, can it? yeah.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ow0bA4H3BQ&feature=related

this is the everyday

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 04:04:39 GMT

and it is all that ever occurs. there is no discernible difference in the pattern of events; sure, names change, and faces too.... but tell me all about the other night and it is forgettable. i regret ever beginning the beautiful process.

the music of animal collective, and smoking marijuana and drinking whisky: these things make me happy. as the weather yields politely to an autumn worth mentioning, i begin to yearn to write letters. the cessation of smoking cigarettes, however, is wretched. i wonder if it in fact helps anything. certainly my respiratory system appreciates the effort, but my everything else..., well, no.

let me say that two thousand and nine was wild. definitely the most crazy year of my existence. plenty of discoveries were made; i found out that i am unique to some unquantifiable degree; i think i told myself i could never love.

i've awoken on countless occasions recently and mentioned that i should quit smoking everything. it is impossible. you want an olympic event? the genuine concern of self implicit the act of quitting smoking! i have already determined that the people among us who have never tried are courageous, but weird (or weirdly oriented). it is definitely recommended. but then stop. and do it every so often, around cameras, or the "cool." good luck getting the bronze.

muggy and buggy

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 02:35:05 GMT

discovering new music is something immediately gratifying and i hope to continue, everyday, on a pathway leading to new and ever intriguing music. sometimes, the radio provides content. mostly, however, it is the internet these days, ofttimes leading us into a direction decidedly modern, amusing, interesting, and "creative."

the final word of that paragraph is quotation marked for the purpose of disclaiming that not all material is inherently creative, but that it is most certainly original--a feat, i suppose, these days, as the cosmos continue to shrink (while contemporaneously expanding), thanks to the very medium that today i am heralding: the internet.

i am not even truly heralding. let me put some fish sticks in the oven, so that you may simmer and glimmer over the prospect, though, that i might toot so majestic a horn one decade too late. perfectly seasoned, flaky, with a delightful lemon zest applied in the batter--mmm mmm.

it is the department of eagles, grizzly bear, animal collective, and others whose musings move something that clicks and hits synapses into the nighttime. a life force during the day, reminding one of the better things in life, the good stuff that people can and are on occasion able to produce. the sweet melodies never stop at this age; amen.

weltschmerz

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 20:21:45 GMT

good god it never gets better, though the worsening is so grey a process that it is nearly immutable. they say it keeps getting better, all the time. maybe when the coffee is fresh this holds some truth. but when i take a sip of water, or a gulp, i get salubrious for a moment. fleeting senses tell me that the swallow has taken place, i can even feel it in my torso, if it is cold enough--if the coffee is hellacious enough.

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 08:36:42 GMT

godawful night. but now i am eating strawberries. i am sober, relatively, though my $32 bar tab might suggest otherwise. jesus. it was incredible.

off of work, i drove steadily toward the downtown. i knew exactly where to park. i arrive just before my friends. this place is hopping, great music, i know the dj and the drinks are made professionally, with care, a concern on their face, but it is crowded. there is a downstairs, but the shit is empty--everything is going on upstairs. i am not familiar with the menu, the prices, but i assume there might be a deal. (later i would discover the deal is $1.50 PBR tall boys.) i go outside, after opening the tab, and realise there is a) no where to sit; b) people i both know well, and know not so much, but want to know more about; c) people i loathe; and d) it is fucking balmy, stagnant and hot. these words do not illustrate properly the conditions, lord.

quickly becoming representative of a mess, though getting only mildly inebriated, i sweat and smoke through the crowd, feeling ever so distant from the madness. a friend hands over a camera, and i am expected to take photographs, with a flash, mind you, amidst the scene. i am already socially anxious, and with my self-medicating regiment as yet unfulfilled, everything was made much more the chore, much more intimidating the venture. "i am sorry, yes, thank you." my mind ran this script for awhile. i took easy targets on for size, but i could hardly see. the viewer used to help you snap photos was impossibly narrow and, as a nightclub, lighting was scarce. i couldn't get close enough with my glasses on, and without them on, it was pointless.

as soon as i am able, i hand off the camera with three new photographs on a camera with six hundred capacity. and i smoke, trying to make it through drink one, because i perceive that i am far behind, and this place emanates nowness, scarily prescribed. i need confidence, mostly. i had let the environment whelm me, perhaps overtly so. another drink, and i am feeling better, but not ahead of the game. these are the days that i am going to look back on with some strange twisted smile, thinking, god, why did i smoke? what did it get me?

i never approach a girl. i come close to something and it is nice, really. her effort, and i am sad to say that that is very often what it takes. it could have kept going, but the gentleman's conversation whom she is with has ended (they are always segmented, the casual conversations), and he tickles her back into his life for the moment. what do i say? i am in a slop pile at that point, right?

she tries to proceed, but the tickling simply becomes intensified, dispersed across the torso, up and down. her smile is pretty, complements her features, but her kind face especially. i can sense she is not into the young man, at least for the moment, and it becomes apparent to me that i was more interesting. this is not enough fodder for my confidence flame, whimpering tamely, ever soft. next time.

more drinks, more cigarettes, but nothing. friends go home and i go to an after party where i walk in late on the pot and the understanding that there will be a keg is actually a four-day-old-and-exposed-to-the-elements natural light affair. it is a sobering event, truly. a couple of glasses of water and observing the spectacle of others' actions, i finally come home where i should have been in the first place.

the strawberries would have been a hell of a lot better.

roman monuments

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 06:08:12 GMT

i made my mark down the street one score and three nights ago when ms. anderson--of house 813, down on the left--needed help unloading furniture from her sport utility vehicle. she was shaping the couch of her concern to be something small and manageable, gesticulating on my front porch, obliging my services, smiling unnaturally large, with conspicuous duration and cloying intensity. as i remained largely non-responsive in between swigs of beer, she mentioned the weather and the recent road construction on a nearby thoroughfare, utilizing emphatic inflections that were meant to licit conversation, or simple syllabic structures. anything.

"lady, this is not mister rogers' neighborhood. i don't have the time of day, so far as you fucking know. this is ridiculous. i saw that damn thing; it's huge, and you're crazy. i am going back inside to drink my beer. thank you for your understanding, and best of luck."

realizing the season, i rather promptly added, "happy thanksgiving!" and as she walked away, i remained able to experience her perfume, as it ravaged my pulmonary system and stung my soft palate. that bitch.

no joke: it wasn't a week later that i would get anonymous, irregular retributive acts, gifts or other talismanic objects strewn about my property. being a neighborhood, do not imagine acreage. i mean directly, this woman would enter my home and leave figurines and pamphlets in highly visible locations throughout the main living areas, the garage, the shower, and eventually the six pack of beer itself.

seems she thinks that alcohol might have been the cause of my outburst. in fact, it was the reason, not the cause, for my outburst. my cause came organically through simple interpretation of neighborly etiquette, consideration for one's fellow man, and a respect for privacy. my reason was because she might have been treading more than lightly on my good time, on my night off at home. but seriously: the sun was down for the day. what do normal people do at night?

read, watch television, take a walk, sleep, drink a beer, &c. getting the gumption to go knocking on a nearby (if you're not next door, we're not familiar) neighbor's door to solicit favors? for what? why? don't you have friends you might call? how did you get it in there?

but this is just a simple checklist in my mind that automatically justified my statement in my brain, before being given the go ahead somewhere else in the cortex and being ejaculated with a tinge of defeat almost one month ago. the gifts she leaves i re-gift when i walk the dog. he doesn't like them anyway.

today was wintry

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 06:25:52 GMT

there were blizzards outside and everyone hooted and hollered to a theme song from the eighties, perhaps it was a prime-time event every wednesday. but it was so cold you could not pay too much notice without conjuring images of frosty the snowmen and women dancing with carrots for noses, digging into the ground with the special softness that only snow exhibits, a kind friction that scoots sordidly out of the way whenever snowmen and women pass, offering exclusive peeks of symbiotic routine and made more interesting for the fact of hegemony. it was so cold i took off my robe because it simply was not doing anything. i sat frustrated instead, inches from the space heater, naked and alarmingly high, entranced by the spectacle from my bedroom window

now, i am baffled

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 06:24:56 GMT

there was no warning. they immediately drugged me and took me away. it was beautifully orchestrated, and i only acquiesced so that they might not break my nose. ouch.

i remember tugs of the collar, and i bit back. i had blood in my mouth that night, but i recall having forever a bleeding gum that was irritated whenever i would actually brush my teeth.

late night television was hell. but i stood (and sat) strong.

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 17:46:40 GMT

laundering clothes downstairs. i move out in thirty days, which cannot come soon enough. in the new place, i will not ever be laundering clothes on premises. i am banking on the fact that likely somebody nearby will have facilities and accept beer for services rendered.

cold curry in the afternoon hours, hungover, drinking water from a gallon-capacity jug and even attempting to piece together the night before. this is ambition.

Sat, 23 May 2009 06:06:40 GMT

hello!

it is friday night, saturday morning and my youth all at once! i am going to take my vespa out, and i am going to have a great time! i am listening to grizzly bear online and i am thinking of what to type. it is so early yet! whatever am i going to do? i only arose at twelve forty-five this afternoon, and so have been awake thirteen hours, leaving three perfectly good hours to "hang." it is silly that i am thinking of this, even, though it is something, somewhat important, at this juncture in my life.

whenever you are drunk

Wed, 20 May 2009 05:46:56 GMT

what you do is
you slip this line into your hands
it slips along the fingertips
it plays with your palms
it bristles outward on the outer reaches of fingerprint

how unique! you are!
and i love you every moment
the way that your hair smells
and the sometimes funny nature that is your harmonious,
synchronous laugh! i love your laugh!

i sleep sometimes, and awake &
i never, ever eat until i've smoked something
and thought of your earnest, honest face
jerking off into the sunset
my waterloo is so plaintive.

okay, but i am talking about thrift

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 04:23:42 GMT

the kind of thrift i imagine is blanketed in pink negligees, and i cannot distinguish where economy and form/function coincide, and i cannot talk about frayed necklines, because i have not personally experienced the thrifty negligee phantasmagoria. it is safely the real estate of daydreams.

days that produce daydreams are oddly seasoned in that i cannot always settle on just one kind of content. there is this seeming need to always relocate, do something different and live in the present for a few moments. bike rides are best for this sort of thing. soon, my bicycle will be amazing. the addition of a new handlebar setup and change of saddle will make a world of difference--consider that these are two of the three contact areas you engage with while riding. it will make, now, time spent not typing, but biking, never content.

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 02:29:23 GMT

more than reading, it is writing that i love. there is no other tangible feeling that feels such gravity, even when it is feckless struggles in scrawl, and i cannot help but clatter and listen to the keys crash and rebound after a long, brutal day at work. it is strange therapy.

the thirteenth is a friday

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 21:12:12 GMT

this friday has been different. but not in so many ways that it is disconcerting or anything.

for starters, i have the same socks, shirts, sweater, and pants that i wore last night and into this early morning. i awoke around nine thirty, but retired once more and woke up late for class. eleven o'clock is when we commence english class downtown, but i arrived a half an hour later. it was good that i went, though, as i was able to pick up our assignment and then find out that the fallacy presentations will occur monday. sunday, i will prepare my presentation.

my coffee consumption for the day: high. this is to cope mostly with the fact that the washer machine is dispensing water onto the ground in our utility room. not that much, but enough to be considerably inconvenient. and then there is the fact that i work tonight. the fifth day in a row of working, with one more to follow.

but because of the washer, i have cleaned the house today with the help of my roommate and she also re-arranged the living area as well as the porch. i like it. something about new arrangements that refresh one's residence--like a whole new dwelling. when your leisure time is almost entirely spent outside, it is drastic and defining when the way you conceive the ambience changes. the ambience, too, is bettered or made worse for similar though altogether unrelated ways. it is a mesh of perceptions. also, the work of cleaning and doing dishes makes it feel as though my capacity for laboring is being met. when the quota is nearly full, motivation declines. this is the reason for the coffee.

dependence is slighting, though freeing. and somewhere in between i find that i am so lucky to preserve my foibles. they are bettering.

a very common thing

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 01:47:41 GMT

is for me to head to the common grounds on second avenue every monday. i am already full of drink, and there is much to say, over ever more drink, at this establishment so frequented by the commonplace people and background of downtown gainesville. in florida, i think, we make more of the weather than needs to be made--and we never carry along the umbrellas when we can well expect the flood. the deluge tonight is only one example.

taking responsibility into my own hands, i soon graduate from a community college with an associate's degree in english. yippee.

thinking back, this is not the future. two thousand and nine, the year of many wars being waged, includes a personal triumph over finances. this coffeehouse career is something entirely pleasant and has been much fun, owing greatly to the community feel of my position behind the espresso bar. whenever i want to fuck it, i take a cigarette break and exhale my stresses as so many smokestacks polluting my father land; in doing so, i tighten further a connection loosely based on abstract paragraphs penned in commentaries made daily the center of our downtrodden environ: social, economic, and political.

it is for posterity that i maintain ever more rigid posture and an increased inclination to drink into the twilight, squinting for an evolving horizon somewhere beyond my sight.

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 23:44:18 GMT

it is unbelievable that i am unscathed. i took a turn a few moments ago, sneezing as i awoke. my every dream is of a vibrant economy. i worry for where my children will play when they want--clamor, rather--to go out of doors. how many squirrels and jays will surround their precious, chubby and pale feet? what amount of natural debris will be the cushion under their step? might we all consume the airborne detritus created by successive generations who held degrees in science and engineering, only to reassure everyone that we cannot engineer better or scientifically heal our planet.

i took two minutes in the grocery and turned them into fruitfulness. grabbing bananas.

my friend's birthday tonight has me wondering. and the one i profess to love is away in the city.

this computer is gonzo and the thought of purchasing another is, to exaggerate, absolutely mortifying. i could pick one up tomorrow. gee whiz.

veganism is not at all difficult, though i know my expectations. and i enjoy the absence of dairy.

the astounding light

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 06:24:57 GMT

the incredible urge to do something, feel accomplished. the incredible urge to not do a thing. it is collectively exacted from my inner-being. i am static.

my mind has read less and less with every passing year since senior year of high school. this is not to maintain sanity, but in an effort to mount an aspiration for normalcy and wealth. senseless. my combination falters with every passing week.

the dirt in the grout. the shit you wipe with toilet paper. never removed entirely. accruing incessantly.

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 06:25:50 GMT

from afar, you see a man sitting in his chair. he supposes he used to know more; and, now, he is talking to himself, out of compulsion for--and compelled not by others, as he sits alone--the mental solace you can find in talking to yourself. it is obvious this man is thinking, talking to himself. obvious by the cigarette he purses upon gently, the beer in his lap. the sorrowful light of a southeastern evening's collapse.

i still don't think there is a genre of music toward which i'd ascribe my identity. i'm an individual.

'either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing' oh, ben.

so different than i'd have imagined twenty-five months ago. twenty-five months from now.... shit.

*****

my porch: a place we booze. a place we guzzle java; a place we ejaculate misconceptions; a place we breach ideas. a place we pollute with tobacco smoke late into the evening, and feel none the worse for it. it's not really my porch. it is the porch of our tangible sanctitude--living the moment because we're all fated to be saints.

slip on tight pants, climb out of debt. ride bicycle, wear glasses, drink espresso beverages. look both ways. get fucked. gainesville.

******

i want for tomorrow to resolve all. in fact, however, i will purchase marijuana.

Fri, 27 Jul 2007 02:03:36 GMT

hey mimosa!

won't you wander on down here and shrivel up next to me? i would so enjoy the company of a sweet dream such as yourself. you make me think that the cares of the worry worts are as unfounded as life in outer space. and we're only human, so let me drink to this. it's amorous, the way you touch me, and stimulate the nervous centers of my anxiety-ridden skeleton; i've been made to feel free.

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 03:11:24 GMT

as luck should have it, i was not born in the lap of luxury. my spoon has long been wooden, and i pick the splinters out with bare fingers washed perhaps ten times a day. not a germaphobe, my mother raised me in a souther tradition. there was never any tea around the pantry and a good bacon cheeseburger was something to write home about. i would stay over with friends and their parents were often so nice and i wondered why my mom wasn't so similar with her outward affection. now, though, i wouldn't in a million years want to be the children of these parents. they're louses, the lot of 'em. and i can't think that smoking cigarettes should make me a disappointment, as much as some could make it out to be this way.

it's not.

i don't know where i'm going. put me in a good shirt and i can point you in the right direction of a good time; but, should you include me, you're in for a rude awakening: i cannot socialise adequately. i must fail some established minimum set years before my birth by television, the hippy generation and music television. there might have been some pivotal movies here or there. the things that let people know the depth of your honesty, the conviction and vibrancy of the presentation of your character and personality. i think everything i say is superficial to the extreme. i tell those closest me to not believe a thing i say as half or more is unquestionably lacking in validity. my pastime has me with a racked mind. my job has me in an apron whose tie embodies my nerves by the end of a shift. i'll steam your milk, clean up your mess, tolerate your phone call and still tell you that i love your shirt (and i'm usually telling the truth). but goddamn if i don't need a bowl or two when i get off. or before i go in. and sometimes in the middle of it all, i sit back and observe everything, with a renewed interest in the subtleties of a job with a rich, though recently bastardized, history. the barista is a fixture in the community and the coffeehouse is a place where i can always feel welcome.

my books are my admission ticket. mostly, these days i must go and check in with the scene and what all has happened in the day. usually, it's never much, but there will invariably be times where i can't even imagine missing out--or seeing the big story as an eyewitness! it makes me momentarily happy. it ought to, considering.

my salinger and hemingway and everything else are going great. i bought a twelve pack the other day, paid full price and only had seven from the thing (maybe six). one of the consumers bought me cigarettes, however, and this is compensatory enough, needless to note. i had corduroy slim slacks on, sewn in a burgundy as seductive as a rich vinyl bench seat in an old buick with an automatic column shifter and lap belts only. yes. i'm sexy.

Tue, 12 Jun 2007 21:34:48 GMT

it's amazing that in the two years' time since janis joplin first made an appearance alongside other great acts of the monterey pop festival, her face would come to represent so much more the weariness and strain of the acts of her diurnal life come woodstock. smoking cigarettes, cursing, running into people and sticking around. maybe it's only me. my understanding of her life...i think it would be raucous. what do i know?

must be the colours

Sun, 29 Apr 2007 03:37:20 GMT

i thought that i was going to go lawn bowling today, but that didn't actually happen, and i'm kind of sad because of it. aw, well, i know that it'll be okay. and that the people whom i was trying to get in touch with regarding its arrangement today aren't really ignoring me or anything like that; in fact, i think they might miss me. and by that, i intend to convey how much i miss her.

there oughtn't be anything wrong with extending one's income beyond perhaps unreasonable boundaries determined arbitrarily by a figurehead that america has come to instill a reverence towards--a household sight that draws to mind frightening images of minivans and coupon clipping: the mom. or mother. she's okay, of course, and i love her advice. but when i make my once in a while miasmic blunder, i would consider there to be more understanding, and respect for my own decisions. obviously, no one likes being broke, or using money they do not really have handy, or within proximal conditions in which to obtain that money. dinero.

it
is there
but the rainbow is such
a hump

and that isn't much fun--humping for money or finding the rainbow to scale. or waiting.
and it would not even be so unbearable if there were allowed the condition that my bicycle function with a regularity befitting such a machine. low maintenance, please. my legs are liking the exercise.

i'm liking gainesville. and all its businesses (american apparel; ward's; mother earth; chain reaction bicycles; the jones eastside; book lover's café; the top; leo's 706; satchel's; the atlantic) and sometimes, now, the people. and the scene. and the life. and its motions that undulate mutely under a crescent moon monitoring dotingly on its little southern university town. a town all the more drunkenly content with the semester's being done and over--a whole summer's worth of possibilities are burning especially bright, as they're being fueled primarily by ambitions yet to experience friction. it's a good thing that i so enjoy the area, because i'm fated to stay put for the fifteen weeks or so. and that's okay.

in august, i'll be housed on third avenue. there will be visitors. often, too, i mean to suggest. i want to throw a 'change party' sometime after we're settled. my accumulation of coins has come to be simply too much. i counted, and with quarters alone, i'm looking at thirty dollars. that's quite a bit of beer. and you can see where i'm going with this. there are dimes and nickels to count yet; and there will be others living beside and with me--i'm sure they'll see the sense in contributing to a grand celebration impacting no real money of theirs. change is generally neglected. it's no rainy day, but a reason to celebrate is simply so and it serves one best to acknowledge such opportunities for life enjoyment, and to acknowledge them head-on.

guests can enter for a nickel (or some minimal fee to be paid in coinage). and we will maintain a communal change jar, to be emptied as necessary.

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 00:38:43 GMT

well, yes. well, no. nothing is actually going to work here. i was only tryng to accommodate you. and your gang of artists. why do they follow you so? is there candy somewhere nearby? i can't imagine there to be and yet i don't find the time enough to contemplate further on the polarity of your magnetism which so repels some, while roping in tens of others. i'm going to chalk it up to my own indolence. let's hope that is sufficient.

well, we fall off of bicycles that are made out of steel and aluminum, onto concrete that is primarily sand and other cohesive properties--real tough and hard--and if speed is a factor wildly thrown into the combative mix, then the resultant end undoubtedly breeds, should i go on? blood and disaster. my face was one and is now the other. it was a nice transitory phenomenon that i've had the pleasure of both feeling intently and distinctly as the surface of my dermis was heavily manipulated, shred away daintily as only high impacts and fortuitous angles can, and witnessing--and witnessing others witness me. that is my favorite. the wince and grimace.

today, though: emotionality. yes! a human gesture! at the local market. and that is the place we'd all want it to happen, right? the picturesque afternoon stop for produce and treats; when the activity becomes a conversation at the check out with both an employee and a fellow patron (who has, of course, parked next to you) your spirits take off and beat away at the portion of your brain that has already settled on the knowledge that you may no longer obtain the friendly glance. well, not true! i had wanted to be a skeptic; and, now, it's all affirmed. so that was nice.

last night, when i was drunk, when i was a wreck from so many things--principally exhaustion--i wanted to type the story of america for all on this machine. to harness the keyboard beneath my fingertips and let it have my absolute doctrine writ--ingrained, rather--into this damn plastic keyboard so that the keys may never plunge into the depths of a mechanical conversion ever again. that their movements might never again torment anyone with their fecundity by way of grandiose attempts when the author is incapacitated. a sad, true thing. now, as soon as fifty years from now.

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 06:45:59 GMT

you see an older couple come and sit in tiny seats at the third table they see, third from the left.

he orders an espresso macchiato; she, an americano. they each find for their cigarettes. and he lights hers first.

the coffee beverages are being worked on at the coffee bar--the steam wand is foaming for the gentleman's drink, the nozzle half open. the barista is a younger, brunette, hip and progressive type. she wears a skirt. she pulls a mean shot.

the couple relax into their more compact cafe chairs. they are each half way done with their cigarettes when their drinks arrive. they enjoy them immediately, briskly slurping with brio at the brilliant coffee. the slimmest margin appears between the band of their lips, and the thin smile takes shape to allow for a cigarette. panning out, we see them looking at one another, smiling and talking with some amount of energy. they are a glimmering image of vitality and playboy life types.