I walk into a packed room, a Saturday afternoon crowd listening to a turban-wearing dude playing jazz guitar, accompanied by a non-turbaned dude on keyboard. When the song ends, no one claps. I drop my coat on a table and order a coffee to go. I always order my coffee to go. I’m a slow drinker.

“Have a tremendous day,” the woman at the cash register says, handing me an empty cup. There’s a weird vibe to it, I swear, it’s not just me. As if she sees my laptop bag and my small purchase and is telling me to fuck off and die in a shallow grave in the woods alone. You go whipping out a word like “tremendous,” and the odds are high that you’re employing sarcasm, employing it so generously that you’re going to owe it a 1099 at the end of the year. I’m just saying. In reaction to this perceived attitude, I throw money in the tip jar, because you’re supposed to tip. Then I pour my own coffee, because it’s self-serve coffee. So I just anxiety-tipped a person who did nothing and very likely had no ill intentions. This is a thing I do. This is my life.

Four college-aged ladies sit at a table to my left, discussing the concept of working in exchange for money. The tone of the conversation is fresh and full of wonder. They’ve never talked about this topic before, never delved deeply into this concept. The conversation expands to other topics, like Lord Of The Rings and polyamory and how annoying big scarves are. I love listening in on this conversation. It’s sort of adorable. There’s a loud ticking sound coming from the kitchen area that sounds exactly like the electric starter on my gas stove, causing me to feel real discomfort, as if everything is about to explode in a ball of blue-tinged flame. Other than that, it’s a very relaxing atmosphere, aside from the imminent fear of horrific fire-death.

An Amherst College student sits to my right, reading Charles Darwin, reading it very seriously. She eats an apple she keeps hidden on her lap. The girl sitting next to her has a bottle of Trader Joe’s sparkling water on her table. Not a lot of local business supporters in attendance today, I guess. A mass murderer/child molester sits quietly at a table across the room. I say this with absolute certainty, based on his little mustache and suspicious ‘80s style metal-framed eyeglasses. I consider taking justice into my own hands: Eliminate this creepy dude—spare future victims a grisly fate. On the other hand, at least he ordered a sandwich.