At a small coffee shop
I sit in my uncomfortably small, hard, wooden chair in the middle of this half coffee, half gift shop, where they sell greeting cards, silk scarves, carved wooden figurines of giraffes and skulls, and forest green gnome candles. There are only four tables, three small, one huge six seater. It’s cramped. There’s no anonymity of space. I feel oversized, like a grown up, finger painting in a preschool classroom in one of those tiny chairs.
This place is weird. I don’t like it.
