Shawn and I went to Mandoline, a byob on 2nd and Chestnut for dinner last night. I gave him a book of sonnets, pjs and WD 40 for his bike. He gave me a lovely undergarment as (not so subtly) requested by me. He ordered better than me--a filet lightly doused in oyster sauce (whatever that is). I had scallops on top of potatoes that were covered in some kind of sweet juice. Both of us ate too fast. The waitress became our best friend even though we didn't order appetizers or dessert (the bill still totalled $58).
There's an attractive, possibly gay boy sitting at the table across the room. He's short---I can see this even though he's sitting down. He has moussed blond hair and side-burns and looks to be about 25 years old. He's writing in pencil in a notebook. He would be 5,000 times cuter except for the fact that he's wearing his oxford shirt unbuttoned just one button too far. I suspect it's to show off the thick silver necklace he has on--another fashion faux pas. He looks like a cross between an Abercrombie & Fitch model and a cast member from Dance Fever circa 1979. It's unfortunate.
Here's one thing I will admit hating about Starbucks; they have nothing good to eat. This is a lame critique, after all, they're a coffee shop, but at the same time, could they come up with something more than bagels and dry lemon poppyseed muffins? I'm hungry but don't want to leave yet (haven't written any fiction) and the only thing I could possibly think about eating and enjoying is a white frosted cupcake with sprinkles, but that's not very healthy, now is it?
Obviously, I'm bored and uninspired today.