September 28, 2008
Rochelle and I were at a quaint coffee house downtown, but inside it was decorated like it was outside, with black side railings you see outside restaurants flanking each floor. She wanted something to smoke, so I bought it for her, approaching one of two people wearing hoodies in the middle of the place-an oxymoronic display of secrecy. I wanted drinks, and Rochelle was uncharacteristically complaining about something trivial, when the place began to sink. Her car was smashed and was informed it would be no problem, so we approached my car-casually getting into an argument with the Mediterranean owner.