by Kira Hesser
I’m sorry, but I did not come to this café to watch couples make out with each other between drags of their American Spirits and delicate sips from their soy-based fruit smoothies, but that’s exactly what ended up happening. Someone just kill me, I think to myself, my eyes narrowing. Please someone bring their organic fair-trade latte up to my table and pour it over my head and scald my vacant eyes so that I don’t ever have to look at this fucking scene again. I hate everyone in love and I just want to eat my omelet in peace, you marauding exhibitionist pieces of shit. The bus-boy offers me a to-go box and I smile, briefly forgetting all about my misanthropy. “Thanks,” I squeak, hoping he likes me.
Kira Hesser is a native Chicagoan who recently finished a Master's in Modern Literature in London. She likes Don Draper, old places, old things, and old people most of all. She currently lives, acts, writes, and serves people food in Los Angeles. She blogs here.