I was already going to post today about how I've had it with the whole Not Having the Internet at Home business, then I found out this afternoon that my web cafe is closing, to boot. So tonight I'm testing out the only other spot in town that stays open later than six. It's a far cry from the scene I've grown accustomed to at my Usual Spot, which is in an upscale neighborhood and features banks of PC's and desks and rolling chairs all office-like and plays a steady soundtrack of White Album Beatles, 70's punk, and Stan Getz. The new spot is downtown next to the soup kitchen and has a decidedly artier  air, including lots of paintings of hot chicks with green skin, and Stabby the (bleeding) Panda, who features a daily message such as, “If you come in here wrapped in a blanket, you are asking to be kicked out.” The cute punk girl who made my mocha mentioned she only works here one day a week; I liked her because it's obvious she doesn't care about this job almost as much as I didn't care about my coffee shop job where I only worked on day a week and the homeless people would come in wrapped in blankets and have to be asked to leave. The music is loud and rocking, as are the many tattooed, pierced, safety-pin-and-cigarette-accessorized patrons, except for the three extremely bro'd out surfers who apparently came off a wave directly into the seats behind me, so that I had to set the music through my headphones at top volume to drown out the voluble shouts of, “Dude!” and, “Irie!”

 

Ughhh, and I just now noticed that it reeks of piss in here, as well. This will not do, no. It will not do at all.