His name is Winston, at least now it is. Based on the reds. The whitebox does look nice, angelic almost. Irony. He comes in everyday, including my first day. He was so sour. I think he was like a raisin, probably used to be a sun-ripped grape at sometime too.
Course, This Place Fucking Sucks.
He said it.
Always about place.
This. Place. Fucking. Sucks.
Let's call him Winston.
It was my 3rd night alone. Felt like shit, as is customary. In-the-hole kinda feeling, (not money). According to Lunchtea money defines the art. (Might write about this later, thoughts always connected...)
More like oh-shit-my-work-isn't-done-because-I'm-new-and-inefficient kind. Longest typo I've ever made.
No coffee, it slips through the cracks. I think I drained them, then something lead to the next. And so on. A Simple mistake. He's always the first among the morning-folk. Blah day-risers. I'm just jealous...
Sometimes I miss the extra sunshine. Never really knew what it meant til...
Also 16 oz. coffee. Not sure how he drinks it, he just leaves me a dollar and a quarter now. No change. I love this.
"This place fucking sucks."
Well it does, or it did.
2-3 weeks. No coffee failure. Fresh, hot pots. Every ____ on the ____ as by code. If I'm winking it's because I'm getting FRESH with you. (Except when I really do it, don't worry, just pay attention).
Well... creamer ran dry... I offer to run back....
Hmm... I have no prior knowledge to basic cream colors.
Oh it's ok? Not your normal creamer style. Simple things.
If this place fucking sucks, why do you always come back?
Winston, maybe you'll take more than my six cents, but rather
my 'sick sense'.
(Double post. Waiting for her to wake up to wish her a good day... Extra time.)
