The girl that served me wine is sweeping, no mopping, the floor in front of the counter. A guy who thinks he's smarter than he probably is, is speaking far too loudly for the atmosphere right now, to his pony-tailed companion, about politics and things that smart people discuss. I'm sitting up against the window in the front, drinking a glass of Zinfandel while a girl sits three seats to my left peacefully reading a book. I'm intrigued by the girl's presence - she seems utterly content and completely oblivious to the annoying couple at the far window, espousing about Jack Kerouac. He's wearing a freaking corduroy blazer, the douchebag. Dave Matthew's plays on the radio.
Unfortunately, my glass of wine is now but a glass, and as the clock strikes 8:15pm, I'm debating on going home and going to bed, for lack of something better to do. I enjoy coming here to read and write (and copy cd's onto my computer, which I'm doing now), and was thrilled to learn that Hard Bean is now serving select beer and wine. For better or worse, my evening yerba mate tea has now turned into a glass of vino, which helps with my writing, I think.
I quit the Examiner last week - I'd rather write for myself, especially if I'm not getting paid, and I felt like I was selling my soul to something I don't believe in, namely finding internet travel deals for other people. I need to write about experiences, not about plane tickets.

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