Ahh, Starbucks.

I know that I'm not supposed to, and all my left-wingy hipster friends give me shit about it, but I really do love this place.

It's so strange - all the other Starbucks locations I've been to across Atlanta are so pretentious... Retarded marketing dorks and executives enjoying lattes and whatever. This one, however, is a little well of eccentricity in the middle of southern suburban Atlanta. I've been writing here for about 2 months now, and there's always a pretty interesting crowd here. For instance, there's a guy sitting a few tables over from me writing a book on napkins.

No, not like a reference book on different brands of paper cleaning products. He's writing a book. And he's doing it on NAPKINS. He's been at this for about 2 weeks. One day, I'm going to ask him what he's writing it about.

ANNNNNNNYWAY, There was a chick who, a few minutes ago, sat down directly across from me. She was about 5' 6" or so, dyed blone hair, ruby red lipstick, etc and so forth - as close to Brittany Spears as a no-class redneck harlot can get... Which means "Just like her".

I looked up at her and she smiled, and with this ridiculously faux-sultry voice, she says "HIIIIIIIIIIIII there."

"Hey," I respond, then return to my tip-tap-typing.

She places her index finger on the lid of my laptop and pushes down, flattening it out and forcing me to look at her chest. "Whatcha workin' on?" She says with a toothy grin.

Without batting an eye, I look straight into her eyes and answer, "Why, my latest manifesto."

She puzzles over that for a moment. "Whatcha mean?"

"Well," I answer, returning the screen to it's regular position, "The olympics start in 2 weeks, right?"

She blinked a few times and said "Yeah?"

"Well, someone's got to bomb them, don't they?" I said, then went back to typing.

She left.