This woman bothers me in the coffee shop. An old man left the table in front of me, and the woman moved there with her purse and drink. But before she sat, she pulled out a wet rag and wiped the table and every chair. I don’t know why that happened to be annoying, but it was. She also brought her own metal spoon and was gonna eat an assorted snack of apple slices, cheese, and crackers.

The old lady with the corgi walked in, and the dog started howling like he always does. The lady who’d wiped down the table stood and watched the old lady sit at the next table. Somehow she had a problem with it. I don’t know what at all. Maybe she didn’t want a dog in the store? She went to a barista at the counter, and it seemed as if she was complaining by the look of the barista, but I couldn’t tell what she said because I was wearing headphones and couldn’t hear anything that was going on in here.

The coffee shop smells of nasty disinfectant. I usually don’t mind the scent, but I can’t even describe something so nauseating. The woman at the table ended up being so fed up that she grabbed her purse, coffee, and a metal spoon with her snack and sat at a table outside on the patio. Good. I didn’t want to see her anymore.

There’s no room left for odd people. I’m one of them. I have my quirks. Lately I’ve been done with this. As soon as I got here at half past five in the morning, they were already mopping the floor. One of the baristas was wiping the windows where I was going to sit, and I waited for her to finish. Now that she’s gone, I can sit here in peace, in a way, but it’s not calm altogether.

I don’t know what to write. It has been that way this whole week. I’m struggling. My head is too wrapped up in work. That’s bad. I wish I could control it, but my job has been so stressful that it has taken over my life to where it’s all I can think about. Man, it’s never been this severe, even on a Friday.

The fall is almost here. Just another month or so before it cools down, and I’ll get to walk outside without feeling like I’ll catch on fire. I’m slogging through everything. Even brushing my teeth feels like an uphill climb. I wish I could go back to an easier time.

Now the old men at a long table have taken over the store. They’ve stolen most of the chairs. One of the tables is missing all of them. What if someone wants to sit there? Oh well. The people in this store are getting on my nerves. Other than that it’s business as usual. I can’t focus on anything. Isn’t life stressful? Every little thing gets in my way.

The lady outside has left. Where would she go? Where does she live? I wonder about that.

Some other man took the other chair from my table. Now there’s nowhere for anyone else to sit. There’s a chair shortage in here. Each table has two chairs, and they’ve taken them all. I have a problem with people stealing chairs from my table. It gives me a chill for some reason. I can’t explain why.

I took a break and walked outside. The woman on the patio had moved to another table. She just sat there and stared off, like I did. She wears a white fedora and a black short-sleeved top, a yellow skirt, and black sandals. She looks like a Susan or a Martha.

I’m still wearing my headphones and listening to folk rap. Most people don’t know about it. It’s old music, which most people would think is crap, but that’s okay. I don’t like most pop music. This folk rap is like Tom Waits if he chose to write rap songs. The artist is from Nova Scotia. He calls himself Buck 65. I used to listen to him a lot when I was in my twenties. Now I have revisited his music, and it’s better than I thought. I didn’t think it would age well, but it sits quite comfortably. I remember how witty he was. My taste in music is so strange, but there’s nothing wrong with strange music. It’s better than the ordinary. Who wants to listen to ordinary music? That makes for ordinary people. And who wants that?