It is a good morning, indeed.
I'm 27 today, and I'm in one of my favorite cafes in the whole wide world - Dolores Park Cafe, in San Francisco.
This is the best coffeeshop ever because you're not allowed to work here, apparently, if you're not a fucking hot boi with dark hair.
So far I've counted three just working the front counter.
Momma's makin' it raaaaain at the tip jar.
This coffeeshop is surrounded by windows and overlooks Dolores Park, which is a very gay park in San Francisco.
It's filled with fags walking tiny dogs and lesbians under blankets, trying to fuck in the open air without anybody noticing.
(P.S. all you "great-outdoors"-fuckers: everyone knows what's going on. If your right hand isn't visible, there's only a very few possibilities for where it could be.)
Dykes walk past the big picture windows here all day long, looking cool and slightly high and more than a little dirty.
I love San Francisco lesbians. With my crotch.
And this is the best place in the city to watch them.
I am never happier than when typing away in this coffeeshop, completely juiced on a horrifying combination of:
1) a gigantic soy latte with a tiny (goddammitIsaidtiny) squirt of vanilla
2) Diet Coke
3) some kind of bubbly-water-thing.
I like a lot of beverages.
I'm in San Francisco because San Francisco fucking rules. It's my favorite city in the USA. And I can always come here for a cheap vacation, because of The Curse of Krista.