Coffee Shop Memories
Old one, from Austin, in the days long passed — the old Austin of myth and legend?
Before downtown, west of Congress, before that was a hot destination? Before Whole Foods, Book People, and everything else? Two places stood out. One was that original Alamo Draft House, upstairs, over a salsa bar. The other was a special coffee shop, with a big coffee-bean roaster, in the front of the warehouse space.
Coffee shops were not a national chain with locations at every corner of the compass, and that shop itself, aforementioned in Austin, this echoes back to a certain Gemini, perhaps better served in other locations, but that was then, and this is now. Flashing, passionate eyes under long lashes against a coffee-hued skin. No AC in the summer, and in Austin? That could be a problem, but there was a nascent front stoop, with garage doors that opened to the south and the west, maybe three blocks north of the river, creating some kind of breeze.
Me, possibly dripping from a dip in Barton Springs, and stepping away from the urinal, in the then unisex bathroom? A woman was emerging from the toilet stall, next to me. Total and complete absence of shame, more like head bob, “S’up.”
That singular memory, drifted free from mental moorings and floated upwards into my consciousness. Worth a mention. Begs questions about the separation of church and state.
Coffee Shop Memories
Perhaps it was youthful travel in Europe when I was much younger. Maybe it was being around a two-year old girl when she had to pee — I was the only escort at the moment so we had share a bathroom. Thank goodness a local Starbucks doesn’t care if I share a toilet with my buddy’s kid.
Just have to question whether this amount of moral indignation is justified over where we pee.
Coffee Shop Memories
#LGBT
