My favorite local bookstore (Skylark) smells like freshly printed paper and gives you a high that new, unbent paper can only give. Trust me, I tried to get it elsewhere. The only other thing that comes close is that little gnawing pain that you get while the tattoo gun is etching across your skin, or when your dirt bike skids across the gravel.
The French Press coffee from Sycamore is dark and gives you the tingles. Everything about it and the vibe of Sycamore gives off timeless, misunderstood artist vibes. However, the grounds at the bottom of the coffee cup that the French Press leaves behind reminds me of the coffee that my uncle would make beside the bonfire during deer-hunting season. He would dump water and coffee grounds directly into the metal pitcher and let it heat up next to the open flame of the fire. The consumer of that liquid would end up pulling coffee grounds out of their teeth after the cup was empty. We called this Hobo Coffee, but now I have to pay for it and brave the local hipsters for something that slightly reminds me of it.
Trainer: “Don’t use your hands, homie. That is cheating.” I figured it out and strengthened my glutes because my butt needs to stay in shape even though it is hardly ever seen.
Leave a Reply