After pretending to be a Nike model, a few icy laps around Greenlake, a bowl of jalapeno "stoup," and Fiore's dirty morning glory chai:
I sit before an analytical essay about fallacious arguments, an empty tin of altoids, and a (finally) sun-streaked Caffe Fiore; my coffee house of choice (despite increasingly priced espresso shots).
Note of the Day: If you wake me up out of a dead sleep at 2am, and if you asked me for $$, I would probably give it to you. Don't try it please.
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