Sometime after
midnight,
EST
Another excursion to the
coffee house. On the way there, a car hit me from behind, the same way the only other accident I’ve been in happened. I was crawling forward waiting for an opening to make a right on a
red light, and the guy behind me thinks I’m taking off and hits the gas without looking to see if I’m still fucking there. Last time, it was a giant truck that mangled the shit out of my trunk and scared the hell out of me. This time, it’s just a nudge really, a little paint scrape, that’s all. Barely phased me. The guy was a nice (hell, the fact that he actually pulled over made him nice in my book)
Pakistani gent with his family, and we traded phone numbers so I can hit him up for a check later. Probably won’t cost that much, especially since my father is tight with people at the
car dealer. Still, I’m pissed. It’s the principle of the thing. For years, I’ve gone (with the exception of the
fender bender with the truck) accident free, and now a brand new car, one month off the lot, and I get hit. Why couldn’t it have been the shitty
hatchback I drove in
high school? One of the used
Corollas with the rubber
bumpers? Nooooo….
Instant karma’s gonna get ya!
The coffee house is dead tonight. I guess the
Partridge Family has a big following, but not many have turned out to see the
Indigo Girls. (Well, the Indigo Girls if they were in their 20s and called
Starfish.) Lots of middle aged couples and their kids for some reason; I guess it’s
spillover from the
dollar theater next door. I finished
Dave Eggers’ book, so now I’ve shamelessly brought along the new
Harry Potter tome, on loan from
Sylvar. Besides, with all the kids there, I may be the only person in the joint who hasn’t read it yet.
If you haven’t guessed already, the
coffee house girl was not there again. I think she no longer works there, and I suspect the place may be under new
management, though I have no way of knowing for sure. A lot of the same employees, the same musical acts, just a hunch, really. I hate to inquire about her – that’s asking to be labeled as a
stalker. I have her number around here somewhere. I should
grow a spine and just call. But I hate using the phone for just about anything, much less something like this.
The couples and kids leave after an hour or so, and the place is nearly deserted, just the employees, a small bunch of older people who know each other, and me curled up with Harry Potter. Not the usual crowd here, but then I’ve been away for a while.
Closing time comes too soon, right at the exciting part, when the
Goblet of Fire…. Hey, I’m not gonna spoil it – read it yourself!
When I get home, my front door is covered in
frogs. I wonder if there is any
magical significance to this.