Clouds in my Coffee
I visit my local cafe regularly. For the purposes of this post I shall call it Cafe Proximity . This place is ridiculously near by. How close is it? I occasionally think of walking to the slightly more distant cafe to give my pedometer something to do. But I don't. The nearer java-slinger plays a steady stream of Generation X hits like Spandau Ballet's "True" and (perhaps as a result) it is less busy and more in need of my custom. The farther joint, which I will now dub Espresso Hipster , is going gangbusters. It is populated by young mums who have just fast-walked the entire suburb and parked their strollers three deep on the footpath outside. I can't be dealing with their kind of vigorous energy on a Sunday morning, nor do I wish to be the only person on the premises not wearing yoga pants. So I slump in a Cafe Proximity plastic chair and listen to the likes of Cold Chisel and Carly Simon whilst waiting for a small latte that will be delivered with a comp...