You walk up to the cashier and buy a biscotti and tell the punk to keep the change.
At your favorite spot, you're a work monster. Kids cry, old people cough up mucous and try their ringtones, someone tries to ask if they can plug their computer in beside you, but you ignore them all. You are Steve Jobs, but your efficiency at the moment is closer to the children making iPads at Foxconn. You plow through the assignment with ease. In fact, you finished a little too fast, so you dick around on your phone to milk the clock a bit.
When you look up, everyone is gone except the barista. He's holding a broom and giving you a look like he's imagining cutting your head off, like he's smelling your head roast in a pile of flaming tires, like get the fuck out before I kill you, bro!
"Alright, I'm leaving," you say packing your stuff up and heading into the night.
You take a shortcut down a back alley and, because of your obviously weak frame, are immediately jumped.
"Give me that laptop," the goon says holding a knife up. The blade shines in the darkness. You take a gulp.
The treacherous New England Patriots are guilty of deflating their footballs. We must punish them severely in the name of holy retribution. This transgression has been the biggest headline in the United States for an entire week, and it should be the primary concern of all nations.
We have used extensive market research to determine the average consumers of America's favorite rolls of caramel-oozing choco cysts.
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