Today I went to a coffee shop to get my usual, a coffee black to stay. I have an account with the shop because they don't take credit cards unless you're paying a lot, so every few months I charge it up with twenty or thirty dollars.
The girl behind the counter has very short hair, and she plays in a band that I have seen play around the town. I ordered my coffee (she knows it by heart, god bless her), and she asked if I wanted it on my account. I told her yes.
She asked me what I was reading. I asked her if she had ever heard of Lacan, and she said she had read him in some of her women's study courses.
I took out my credit card and she reminded me I was using my account, and then she opened her mouth, and I thought I hear a telephone ringing. The dog told me that my account was running low. I walked upstairs, into the basement.
Life is lonely here, humans.