Notes for the Coffee Shop Novel
More electronic devices in use than people using them.
A hip priest takes a quasi-confession from gender-conflicted parishioner. They fist bump.
Dissipated writer tries to reanimate.
It’s sunny outside but a few customers carry umbrellas; Oregon is dead.
Shop only plays Patti Page or Patti LaBelle.
Lots of posters for animal rescue events.
Everyone is incredibly tall.
A regular always wears yellow or orange denim skinny jeans.
Two women daily occupy the corner window and write computer code for health care conglomerates.
The shop introduced square coffee cups and the customers revolted.
One man always walks in eating a cucumber.
The shop has a certain beloved transient who serves as a mascot and alleviates everyone’s conscience about doing nothing about homelessness.
One older man’s flatulence is the shop’s inside joke. Luckily, it doesn’t stink; it only toots like a horn you might hear during a logging operation.
There is no plot, only milieu.
Not a single customer knows how to change a flat tire.
The female barista wears vintage tennis skirts all the time and wants to meet a modern-day Bukowski or become one herself.
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