I earn another disdainful look as I leave no tip for self-serve coffee. Having situated my Ulysses and Huysmans, spines in view of the ripe honeys, I recommence the sketching of squares on a napkin hidden behind my tumbler. After a distracted glance, I’m busted gazing at gloriously fucked-up teeth on the butterface opposite my table.

“I thought you’d never say hello,” she said. “You look like the silent type.”

“I do dig girls who look like girls, but you were much cuter before you ordered that cream cheese.” Outside again, the breeze carries a whiff of salt and pine.