A lot of the time, I don’t leave because I’m finished. I leave because I have to pee.
I find it inexpressibly frustrating. Here I sit, working hard and doing my best to stretch a four dollar coffee as far as it will go. In my heart, I know that as soon as my cup is empty I will feel morally compelled to vacate the premises. I sip slowly, rewarding myself by the word, and while away the hours plotting only to be betrayed in the end by my own bladder. So I gulp down the end of my drink, enough that I know I could have made it last through at least another hour of industry, and flee entirely rather than face the walk to the public washroom again.
( Yes, *again* )
To Laura, who loves coffee more than I do;
And to Steph, who almost doesn’t work in a coffee shop anymore.