I sit down in a cafe and want to write from something inside me - and outside two men next to me are chatting hard about nothing. One of them has a long, rasping, repetitive laugh that I notice annoys me. This is a judgement - and I realize how I hate locals in cafes - their sense of entitlement with the staff - asking how long till the obviously pregnant barista ‘drops’. An intrusion into the private world of staff because we have set a culture around service that is about consuming, taking what we can get - whatever we can find to add value to our $4.10 long black.

It’s dark humour - I’m gonna coffee stain this page because this is the dog shit age we are in - taking, taking, taking - like no one’s watching, like its our right - or at least because we are bored and want any titivation - from porn to the smarmy chat up of a woman way too young for us to legitimately date.

Why am I so dark about these two men? Because they represent a dark part of me that would do - does the same. An exercise in exorcism - come Holy Spirit fall afresh on me - that shit. Its in the ether - it’s part of the masculine and it’s not wrong - I’m just hating on this part of me right now and it’s also a bit ugly to see.

I will take my black leathered jacketed self to try and be of use to another woman who needs a new commercial site for her business - she hasn’t asked - but she shared how its tough where she is - so I’ll use what I’ve got - networks - reputation - history - old coffee history - to do a turn - hopefully a good one to make up for all my judgement herein.