Beatnik dreamers

I don’t like coffee and I don’t like tea. I always feel like such an idiot when I go to all the corner coffee shops and order a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. I’d look much more hip if I could just say “coffee, black.” I’d take my nasty smelling beverage onto the patio and milk a cigarette while talking about Kafka. But I hated coffee, I choked on cigarette smoke and all I knew about Kafka was that he smeared his feces on the walls of his asylum. So I abandoned the beatnik dream and all the wanna-be beatniks that come along with it. I didn’t fit their style or they didn’t fit mine.

~ by carik on March 6, 2008.