The Boy and his First Hot Chocolate

Perhaps writing here was a bad idea- there’s already a chocolate smudge on my page before any ink or words of wisdom land on the page. I’m sat in Starbucks, sipping down my hot chocolate, while trying to think straight with all this chit chat going on around me. I thought that this would be the kind of place to get some peace and quiet. Oh, how I was wrong. With the gift of hindsight that thought makes me chuckle a little bit (with sadness).

This wasn’t the first ‘Bucks’ I’ve been in today. I’d say it’s about the eighth. The first one I went in was busy, so I thought ‘it’s about lunchtime’ so I wandered around Monday-afternoon London until I found the next one. Apparently they are all busy. I don’t know where I got the idea that I could find peace in this place but I doubt it was based on anything I found in reality. Perhaps a dream? Probably some opportunistic residual ‘Friends’ memory I thought I had forgotten.

Anyways, I realized (disappointingly slowly) that it wasn’t going to happen and I gave up peace in exchange for the caramel-hot chocolate I’d been craving since Starbucks number 1.

It was alright. Just alright.

It’s the classic ‘want-something-so-long-and-when-you-get-it-you’re-disappointed’ scenario. I am however enjoying creating brand new adjectives to describe just how chocolaty my hot chocolate is- chocolicious? choctacular? My personal favourite is supermegachocochoctastic- get that in scrabble and you have won, my friend.

I’m sharing my table with a blonde-haired chap with skinny jeans and the world’s most colourful shirt. It’s like he just returned from the world’s most unsuccessful bout of paintball, ever. But it’s actually quite jazzy and trendy and yes, I do want one. He’s alternating between poking his nose into a tatty, dog-eared book and checking facebook for updates. I detect a hint of providence that we are sat at the same table. We seem to be the only people in this place who are being quiet.

There’s not much else here worth mentioning. It’s the quintessential cosmopolitan coffee house. The wall are all warm oranges accentuated with rich brown elements and mint green armchairs. There are photoboards of artists hanging everywhere, although I think I’m using the word ‘artist’, well, incorrectly because one board is Sharon Osbourne. Everything in here looks ‘natural’ which is ironic considering it’s a replication used for a multinational corporation.

This afternoon I have noticed something about my writing- it has the tendancy to go off on tangents. It never goes A to B. It’s always A to G, back to E, circle around that hippo thing there and then canoe the rest of the way to B. I’ve heard that the way you write is a reflection of the way I think, but it never really dawned on me until now. My writing, like me, somehow has a short attention span. I can’t tell if that’s my weakness or what makes me special. Either way, that’s the closest thing to a lesson or a point this session will come. Aside from that consider it point-less, like hot chocolate, or Sharon Osbourne.


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