27 de marzo del 2001

Since I'm a wee bit busy and feeling very unjournaling-like, I've copied my friend Betty's e-mail for today's entry. Don't worry, she loves me and doesn't mind that I'm Slugina McLazy.

My friend Sergio gave me a ride to work this morning, so he picked me up around 8:30. �Early enough to require an immediate cup of coffee.

There are no coffee shops in my neck of the woods, or at least none that I/we can breeze in and out of with a good cup of coffee. �So he says to me "Let's go to that one around the corner from your house called Dolce Espresso". �Sounds Italian right?

Right off we knew something didn't look right: tinted windows, no cute tables outside, a crooked neon sign that read "open", and.. no smell of coffee seeping out of the place.

So we walked in.

There was nothing Italian about the place except for maybe a Biscotti Jar. �This place was dark, smoky, and packed with little Vietnamese men o.d'ing on espresso, playing checkers, and dominos, and cards.. all smoking, it was a bad Jackie Chan Movie set.

Behind the "bar" were these two tiny Vietnamese women that looked like Asian Porn Rejects. �One of them had big enough cha cha's to touch the moon. �The other one wore six inch heels that doubled as a lethal weapon.

We ordered mochas. �I'm not sure if they really understood me, but we waited. �Sergio was too busy staring at the 'cha chas' that he didn't notice how weird it felt to be in there, an obvious BAR that served coffee and tea. �It took a while to get them... maybe it just seemed like a long time.

Needless to say we got our $3 double Mochas.

I'm not sure what it was made with, clearly it was not real cocoa, I'm not even sure it was real espresso... all I know is it was damn tasty and it allowed me to get to work and type up this one page email of this crazy story, because I AM ON FIRE HYPER!

It was the kind of place I'll go back to tomorrow and discover that it does not even exist.

In other news: Yes, Betty's addicted to caffeine.

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