I turn into a fiction writer or poet when I try to write a paper in a coffee shop. Suddenly my brain begins to write the story of the barista who rang up my tea or the story of the man who is sitting in the corner reading looking like he is waiting for someone who will never come.
My paper is supposed to be about Steinbeck, the ultimate writer-observer. He would want me to write about the beautiful ecology of this coffee shop and how they interact right? There is even a Chinaman with a shoe that flops...
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