Tranquil music plays. I absent-mindedly hum along, not really aware if the sounds are too loud for my fellow coffee house patrons sitting at the adjacent tables. I realize as I continue to type that I’ve slowly become one of “those” writers who sit at coffee shops with their Mac laptops sipping their cups of cappuccino.
I wonder how it has come to this.
Pink curtains block the sun’s hot rays from pouring into the corner café. A few college kids and regular customers converse, and the sounds that leave their mouths get mumbled together into a collective drone pulsating, and adding extra noise to the music playing overhead. I’ve started staring at the other customers in the attempts to add them in to a blogger’s silly short story.
Another sip from my cup at the hipster-esque café and I’m gazing off into space. I have plenty of homework to do, but the music is too distracting and I choose not to read the piles of academic journals sitting in my school bag. At this point, there is literally no reason why I should be here. I’ve wasted so much time typing a series of random words, that I’ve sunken further into the cliché.
I’m now “that blogger” sitting in the corner, which has just become a part of the decoration. I notice as I look into the contents of my now empty cup that I’ve slipped into the molding of the café in the worst way, but at least the coffee was good.
This post should have been titled “writer’s block,” unfortunately, however, “writer’s block” doesn’t start with the letter “e.”