Friday, 13 April 2012

Starbucks a year and a half later.

Starbucks a year and a half later[1]

Dear Starbucks,

I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… and I think we should break up.

And as every -a little bit selfish-moving on type of a girl- I’m thinking - being with you, made me ready to be with someone better. But I’m saying it’s not you, it’s me.

I was so in love, I used to look for you, while wandering the streets of Paris, and London. I was asking strangers, where, where, could I find my Carmel Macchiato?! Turning the corner, thinking that Maybe You’ll Be There[2].

See, I’ve changed the sound of passing trains, for a monthly pass to Grand Central. I replaced the green of your arm chairs, for the green facade of Café Reggio in the Village. Your Pumpkin Spice Latte, seemed not enough, comparing to the discovery of (literally) orgasmic vanilla yoghurt with ice cream and fruits. It’s so delicious it causes When Harry met Sally kind of reaction. If you know what I mean…I do remember how happy I was, when you kept giving me the outrageous oatmeal cookies, but hey, I can have warm ones delivered home, from Insomnia Cookies. Instead of quoting Tom Hanks, I figured I’d pop in La Lo Café, where he was sneaking on Meg Ryan, in You’ve got a mail ( btw. the place  is not as cute as in the movie, but it’s still lovely). I started meeting others. Le Figaro, where Jack Kerouac used to hang out. Café Angelique in the West Village, with its tiny chairs, and amazing pastries, and Madeline Patisserie in Chelsea, with around fifty flavours of macaroons (fuck the diet). And then, you know, I got drunk in White Horse Tavern, where Dylan Thomas kicked the bucket. Eventually, I switched the sounds of jazz in my headphones, for the occasional concerts at The Blue Note and Vanguard. I became friends with bartenders at Vespa, where I met the taste of Brandy Alexander[3] (always get me into trouble) and Nutty Irishman (Bailey’s, Frangelico and cream - the recipe for even more trouble). And  Jeffrey’s, and The Meadow… And, Wow, I really sound like a slut cheating on you with all these gorgeous places but you understand that I needed some space right?

And you’re not that perfect either! You do smell nice, but you also can be dirty and loud. You tend to make me overeat. You look exactly the same wherever I go. You get nice and cosy, but let’s be honest, you get smashed by this cute French Café around the corner (oh the French). La Moulin a Café, became my Sunday morning routine, and I just can’t help it. You make me write, but hey you seem pretty shallow, comparing to Nuyorican Poets Café, which Allen Ginsberg called ”the most integrated place on the planet”. 

I think we really got to the point, where there is nothing left for us, but to stay friends.



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