A man just walked by with the most offensive smell. It was like he stunk of bad breath. Bad breath covered his body and he released it like a skunk. The stench is still in here in this coffee shop, but he’s far gone. Wow. Should I move? The stench just hangs in the air like a cobweb. Except I can’t see it obviously. I wish there was a fan in here. He sits outside on the patio with a wheelbarrow that he brought. I watched him walk into the bathroom. He was in there for a considerable amount of time. I haven’t smelled something so bad in years, or else I would’ve remembered it and commented on it. I didn’t know a human could smell this bad. Someone just came over and hugged him. Am I the only one who could smell him? I can’t go near him or else I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Maybe it’s his clothes that reek and he’s just fine. I won’t be able to tell. Thank god the odor has been whisked away by the wind of the door opening and closing.
They’ve taken away the tables here and replaced them with a bench with five small tables, so now people who sit next to me are practically sitting on my lap. The man to my right might as well be looking at my screen. But let him look. What do I care?
It’s not even seven in the morning, and the coffee shop is full. What will it be like by eight when I’m still here? These people will be long gone. All I can do is hope. I’m not saying I want the whole place to myself, but this seating is ridiculous. I should move outside to the patio, but it’s offensively hot. I’m worried that my laptop will melt on the table. It happens when my phone is baking. It turns off and tells me to cool it down before it turns back on. What if that happens to my laptop?
Anyway, I need a haircut. Why are haircuts so inconvenient? I tend to postpone appointments until my hair becomes unmanageable. Then I finally break down and get one. I wish I could cut my own hair instead of paying fifty dollars for a simple job. I tell them the same thing every time I sit in that large chair where they can adjust the height: a three on the sides and back and a trim on top. Of course they never trim it. They always go too far on the top as if they need something to do while they’re cutting my hair, as if their job is incomplete. I walk home looking like a marine.
Well, I moved outside to the patio. I’d rather have my laptop fry than have someone sitting on my lap. There’s another coffee shop, but it’s a mile away. It takes twenty minutes to walk to, and it’s a challenging walk in the scorching heat. The sweat stings my eyes by the time I get there. And when I get back home, my clothes are soaked. I could drive there, but that would be lazy, or I could just stay home. Maybe I’ll start doing that.
The smelly man has left the patio, and his stench has gone with him. Now I smell nothing. I wish I could smell the trees and the flowers, but all is lost.