The adventures of the coffee shop

Blake

Blake's POV

My professor droned on and on about something I already know. I wanted to scoff at the people who were looking intently with confused faces.

I corrected the professor as he made a mistake. He looked angry I contradicted him. It's not my fault he's wrong.

My father made me read most philosophy books by the time I was twelve. I attended hundreds of his classes and seminars as a child.

I had been sitting in for college classes since I was a baby. Of course I asked the professor questions. Much to the annoyance of my classmates.

There was a shuffling in the auditorium. The class is over but I'm not done. I make my way over to the professor. He obviously looks nervous. I wonder why.

Before I make my way to Mr. O'donald a girl with blond hair, dyed. I can tell, gives me her number and flutters her eyelashes at me.

"Call me sometime" she says in a low voice, squeezing my bicep.

I debate with the professor for a while before he excused himself because he's late for family dinner.
I'm left alone in the room that smells like new books and peaches.

The fiberboard desks look poetically empty. The door that's lightly scuffed and the grey carpet that's well past it's years  speak of the many students who've been here.

I walk through the campus, acknowledging only those who match my intelligence or at least can compete it.

I make sure to walk in a self assured manner ,  chest out and hands behind my back.

People seem to feel my air of superiority over them. They bend their heads and scuffle out of the way when I walk past, as if they can't help but submit to me. Girls try to flutter their eyelashes, handing me their numbers asking me to call them.

I make my way to the top of the hill where my apartment rests. I unload my books and start reading my books for next semester.

Much to my misfortune my roommate came home with his loud girlfriend. She speaks and nonsense comes out. I've only had the house to myself for three hours.

I grumpily pack my things into my book bag and and head to the nest study place I know.

The atmosphere has always proved to be beneficial to my learning. It would be silly to say it's a home because I already have several homes. One owned by my family on campus,  my dorm, one in Florida, one in France. The coffee shop is simply fashioned for comfort to increase spending. Tastefully so.

I make my way to my mustang. Some people are already ogling it. I've had it since freshman year of university. I run my hands  over the leather of the wheel before I stick my key in the ignition, causing it to roar to life.

I park right in front of the place I want to go. I went to the gym this morning, I don't need to exercise more.

I love this old town. I love the buildings and the culture. Despite the people being fairly uneducated and working lower class, it just speaks to me.

I stroll into the familiar coffee shop. The old time antiques spread out around the store. Ordinarily I would be against getting coffee so late, it's bad for my health, my sleep, my studies, but today I needed it.

I stand with my chest out and my hands behind my back conveying power. The girl wiping the counter simply doesn't notice me. I'm not used to not being not noticed.

I shuffle around a bit. She really does look lost in thought. I wonder what she's thinking about. Her caramel eyes are downcast with her long black lashes almost touching her cheeks when she blinks.

She looks like a high schooler probably destined to be lower middle class like the rest of town. Probably working in a coffee shop for the rest of her life. She'll probably marry young, her high school boyfriend. He'll become a lush and she'll have a million children.

I suddenly snapped out of my thoughts, why was I pondering one slum girl so deeply. I clear my throat, she'll probably drop out of high school to work here.

Her eyes snap to me and she seemed to scowl at my presence.

I tell her my order, she seems especially peeved by my presence
"Two more hours" I hear her say under her breathe.

She hands me my drink and swiped my card.

Call me crazy, I think she has intelligent eyes, she observes me with annoyance and a keenness I can't quite place.

"Why do you work here if you don't like it?" I strategically ask

I expect her to give her life story or a bit of information, instead she deadpans me with "I like the place not people"

She intrigues me. I watch her move around the tables with ease. She has definitely planned out the most efficient way to bus the tables.

She occasionally glances at me. I expect her to check me out or something but no response. In fact, she seems to forget me after a while.

I finally decided I am done and head upstairs to study.

The room is wide and spacious. There's half of a wall separating three rooms. They're each furnished with  a few sofas and tables. Every room has something musical on the walls, wether music sheets or decked out instruments. Inefficient, but also beautiful.

I hear some school girls gossiping mindlessly. I find it mundane and useless to gossip. Until I hear, "yeah she works here"  one girl said matter of factually.

"She's like totally like an overachiever" the other girl says annoyedly.

"She needs to just stop, what's she even working towards we're juniors" the first girl states.

I tune them out after they start talking about shopping.

I start reading any material they could throw at me next semester. I let my mind explore with Plato and Aquinas.

Soon it's closing and I pack up my stuff.

I'm the last to leave and I hear a "thank god" from the mouth of the barista

I see her hurry upstairs with her books and a broom.

I shrug and start on my way home. I have class tomorrow anyway.

I get home and hop into the hot shower. I comb my hair and brush my teeth. I put on some sleep pants and a big shirt.

Then I slide into my bed and fall asleep dreaming of Thomas Aquinas.

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