The reviews for a particular chain you know is blitheringly, predictably lame, especially for one next to a barbershop, and I had to wait for a trim, but not for a hot cup of good mud. While shaggy, I read the reviews of the coffee spot…

People complain about service…or sort of grudgingly admit that it’s just a freaking coffee shop, no big deal, so boring I can’t even and stuff.

So I reach into the throat of madness and grab the tongue and rip it from its root and toss the thing into the air, where it turns into a flying panther made out of burning Joss figurines and bellows the following review, which I got down on the back of a packet of raw sugar, in cramped sigils with my own eyes blood while sitting bolt upright on the closest stool possible:

I put the bean juice in my body. I listen to the slamming tunes, and drink enough coffee to see through walls, and sometimes certain unclaimed futures which appear in glistening portals next to a poster of an art deco coffee cup, sometimes emitting smokey fog that smells faintly of nutmeg and cloves and existential fear, but those miserley glimpses of other lifetimes are not my futures in the obscuranta, so I am sort of trying to play it off legit … because I’m having sensory issues with my fourth cup and I’m reading free actual abandoned newspapers with my eyes, and the same P=NP problem, solved, keeps distracting me, and I can see this really weird equation in my head, glowing but with bananas instead of coefficients. Would totally help me with soduko. That’s good house brew.

By the time I get home I no longer need sleep. I crouch like a bat, absently, quietly suspended upside down from the ceiling, gripping the popcorn design with powerful, ice cold prehensile toes. Haven’t tried the iced coffee yet. Thinking about getting a travel mug. thanks

group of friends hanging out
Photo by Helena Lopes on Pexels.com

:

 

I put the bean juice in my body. I listen to the slamming tunes, and drink enough coffee to see through walls, and sometimes certain unclaimed futures which appear in glistening portals next to a poster of an art deco coffee cup, sometimes emitting smokey fog that smells faintly of nutmeg and cloves and existential fear, but those miserley glimpses of other lifetimes are not my futures in the obscuranta, so I am sort of trying to play it off legit … because I’m having sensory issues with my fourth cup and I’m reading free actual abandoned newspapers with my eyes, and the same P=NP problem, solved, keeps distracting me, and I can see this really weird equation in my head, glowing but with bananas instead of coefficients. Would totally help me with soduko. That’s good house brew.

By the time I get home I no longer need sleep. I crouch like a bat, absently, quietly suspended upside down from the ceiling, gripping the popcorn design with powerful, ice cold prehensile toes. Haven’t tried the iced coffee yet. Thinking about getting a travel mug. thanks