Unfiltered
🚩 Disclaimer: The following is a daft, dream-like set of alternative Schrödinger-cat universe conversations where body language lost in translation and consistently unmet personal development aspirations collapse into one amorphous whole.
PART 1
At an otherwise busy coffee shop
-- "Are you alright? What's with all the colours and outlandish attire on the bearded geezer? You ought to eat and train more."
-- "I'm fine thanks! How about you? What's so special about a simple brown summer jacket made in Portugal? Some people do avoid fast fashion after all. You look coolly minimalist yourself."
-- "So, what would you like with your brunch porridge? Or is that a porridge brunch?"
-- "An unfiltered coffee, please. The coffee here is probably the best this side of Palermo."
-- "True, although I guess the owners only pay business rates. Will that be Turkish or Syrian?"
-- "Even a French press would do. Whatever works best for you really."
-- "I'll make that a flat white with one extra shot. You look like the weak type."
She paused and added as though it weren't obvious by now:
"Not really my type. You know what I mean?"
-- "I had figured. Your 'type' must drink distilled potatoes for brunch. My constitution would never, ever, allow it. And besides, there's someone out there for everyone."
-- "Hmmm... That's an idea. I can suggest the crystal brew to the boyz before we meet for brunch next time... Would you like to splurge a hundred quid on some pastel de nata to fill the pockets to your unstructured jacket?"
-- "Maybe next time, for another intuited conversation. It's a mad lonely world out there."
-- "You bet!!"
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PART 2
Friday night at an otherwise busy convenience store.
-- "Are you alright? What's up with the slow walking through the aisles and not knowing what you'll have for tea? What can't you be normal like nobody else?"
-- "Thanks! How are you? I guess I quit the rat race when I entered primary school. It's as you just said: NOBODY is normal. So why should I be?"
-- "Do you have ID for that black stuff? Are you eating that for your tea??"
-- "Sure. I mean no. It's called extra dark chocolate. I'm only in my mid 40s. Here's my ID for the Belgian beer, I guess. Even French people know beer can only be called such if it was made in Belgium. The full unfiltered taste is absolutely unparalleled. And by the way, the chocolate is for snacking during the day. Never for tea. Heaven forbid."
-- "Well, I wouldn't call that 'chocolate'. More like coal. Chocolate is sweet by divine order from the heavens above. I mean, Belgian chocolate is almost always sweet and creamy, right? And by the way, take it easy with the non-drinking on Friday night. Friday and Saturday nights are for getting plastered, by most local standards anyway. Not that I do."
-- "Well, each to their own. It's also not my type to give advice, but go easy on the cheesy chips at the weekends. They're more like punishment for the body than a treat. There's better alternatives."
She paused briefly before returning to her counter, as revelation briefly glittered in her otherwise translucent ebony eyes, now quietly erupting with a small armageddon
-- "Right! I know why I was wanting to see your ID. You looked like an under-age squirrel with a fake beard tied around your slim face. I must say: go easy on the nuts, bro."
-- "How could you tell? I do actually appreciate the unspoken advice... Everybody probably needs a sister like you."
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