stream of consciousness at starbucks

There’s a draft here at Starbucks. I’m trying to write (something else), but not much of what I think helps me.

I’m also sick. My stomach churns. Arms shake slightly. I should really use the bathroom, but I am here alone, and I can’t leave my things. Add that to the list of reasons I should replace this crappy Dell with a tablet, or, at the very least, a newer, lighter laptop. Mobility has become a priority in my life, but my 5-year-old gadgets suggest otherwise.

The high school students across the coffee shop discuss Instagram. It seems that an acquaintance of theirs owes her most-liked Instagram photo to one of the girls here. Well-done, high school girl. You are better at framing square photos and choosing an arbitrary filter than the friend you’re talking about behind her back. It’s probably not even the composition that earned those coveted likes, rather your ability to better choose Instagram-worthy subjects. Applause, applause, applause. This is definitely a conversation topic worthy of the 10 minutes you’ve given it.

I still need to use the bathroom. Is it unreasonable to ask a barista to keep an eye on my laptop? As much as I want to dispose of this thing, it still harbors sensitive information and all my files and photos since 2007.

All right, I have returned from the restroom. Upon typing the last word in the previous paragraph, I went to the bathroom: Because no one in northern Indianapolis would duck into a Starbucks to steal a 5-year-old, piece-of-crap Dell laptop. All is well.


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