There’s a girl with lavender hair sitting at the coffee bar. A metal red lamp hangs directly above her…some alien Mother Craft beaming down one of its own. Milky beverage, black t-shirt, cat’s eye glasses pushed high up on the bridge of her nose. The bun-wearing barista pulls levers; steam shooting out in hisses and toots… an espresso conductor on a latte locomotive. Long legged, pale, chatting friends sit on the maroon couch…chests leaning in with secrets…hand performing the martial art gestures of gossip. You listened to Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” three times this morning and you felt guilty for subjecting your cat to R&B…the second hand smoke of an aching heart.