i’m still at Brooklyn Roasting Co., whose glass tables, propped up by their signature sticker rolls, hover above industrial metal-laced wood. it is on this layer that dust bunnies, somehow dislodging at this very moment (as if the cause of it all—the A/C—had only began blowing today), scuttle and scatter, float and fly.

i think the perpetual line for the two bathroom stalls are directly linked to the diuretic effects of this heavenly (i said “most enchanting” on yelp) coffee.

my arms are so tired from writing.