wooglin's crew
wandering downtown after some coffee and updates. find the leechpit - a pretty cool vintage music/clothing store. the guy working seems pretty cool. recommends a few places i should check out. one of which is wooglin's - a bar / coffeehouse / deli. wind up spending my entire afternoon there talking with brook, hillary, andres, and johnny. all the employees. really cool people. best i've come across in colorado springs. here's a synopsis...
get there - i order a locally brewed oatmeal stout. good shit. sit down at the bar next to hillary. a newly-turned 20yr old girl. i think? black hair. black mascara. cute though not scary. a touch more black and she'd be scary. notice her right away. when i sit down i have the feeling she's trying not to look at me. take out a book - franz kafka's - "the trial" (pretty dull so far. but it's referred to a number of times in some other books i've read. albert camus' - "the myth of sisyphus" for example). start reading or pretend to. just looking at the words on the page really. notice hillary's ordered a sandwich. a sandwich, she's made a point of showing, all in sight, is falling apart. the bread crumbling to bits. she's not really complaining about it as much as she's excusing herself for any possible mess that may occur during the eating process. i make a comment about how she can wet the bread and ball it all up together. "then it'd be good as new (sort of)." she pretty much ignores my comment. rightfully so.
i get up to get some water. leaving my book on the counter of the bar. walk over to the soda fountain. fill my glass. turn back around to reclaim my seat. notice hillary is peeking over at the binding of my book to see what it is i am reading. spots me spot her. she quickly returns her gaze to her sandwich. i sit down next to her again. resume sipping my beer. neither of us mention the book. or anything. a momentary return to silence.
i pick up "the trial". resume looking at words. glance over at her from time to time. notice she has unique dimples set high in her cheeks. kind of like eye dimples. when she smiles they come out, or go in, as dimples tend to do. more interested in her and her dimples than my book.
andres and brook are working behind the counter this whole time. seeing what has and has not transpired. eventually decide to join in. andres mentions "the trial" is a really good book, and movie as well. i nod. haven't got far enough into the book to truly disagree, and i'm unfamiliar with the movie. brook takes a break from working. lunchtime. joins hillary and i on the customer-side of the bar. sits to hillary's right. i'm seated to her left. a hillary sandwich.
someone asks where i'm from. i answer "north carolina. just passing thru. been travelling the last couple months...blah blah blah..." hearing this, brook leans back on her barstool. gets my attention. i lean back to meet her. tells me she is from north carolina too - fayettenam (aka fayetteville) to be precise. we start talking, in back of hillary, as she continues to eat / clean-up her sandwich mess.
time flies by. andres and hillary start picking on each other in a friendly manner. about music tastes... clothes... ethnicities... the norm. "what's the first three words of the mexican national anthem?" andres asks. "attention k-mart shoppers..." hillary, being part-mexican, retorts "you just think you're better than me because you're chilean and not mexican." andres responds "you're right." "what do bricks and fat women have in common?" "they've both been laid by mexicans." hillary sighs in frustration. i laugh my ass off.
get there - i order a locally brewed oatmeal stout. good shit. sit down at the bar next to hillary. a newly-turned 20yr old girl. i think? black hair. black mascara. cute though not scary. a touch more black and she'd be scary. notice her right away. when i sit down i have the feeling she's trying not to look at me. take out a book - franz kafka's - "the trial" (pretty dull so far. but it's referred to a number of times in some other books i've read. albert camus' - "the myth of sisyphus" for example). start reading or pretend to. just looking at the words on the page really. notice hillary's ordered a sandwich. a sandwich, she's made a point of showing, all in sight, is falling apart. the bread crumbling to bits. she's not really complaining about it as much as she's excusing herself for any possible mess that may occur during the eating process. i make a comment about how she can wet the bread and ball it all up together. "then it'd be good as new (sort of)." she pretty much ignores my comment. rightfully so.
i get up to get some water. leaving my book on the counter of the bar. walk over to the soda fountain. fill my glass. turn back around to reclaim my seat. notice hillary is peeking over at the binding of my book to see what it is i am reading. spots me spot her. she quickly returns her gaze to her sandwich. i sit down next to her again. resume sipping my beer. neither of us mention the book. or anything. a momentary return to silence.
i pick up "the trial". resume looking at words. glance over at her from time to time. notice she has unique dimples set high in her cheeks. kind of like eye dimples. when she smiles they come out, or go in, as dimples tend to do. more interested in her and her dimples than my book.
andres and brook are working behind the counter this whole time. seeing what has and has not transpired. eventually decide to join in. andres mentions "the trial" is a really good book, and movie as well. i nod. haven't got far enough into the book to truly disagree, and i'm unfamiliar with the movie. brook takes a break from working. lunchtime. joins hillary and i on the customer-side of the bar. sits to hillary's right. i'm seated to her left. a hillary sandwich.
someone asks where i'm from. i answer "north carolina. just passing thru. been travelling the last couple months...blah blah blah..." hearing this, brook leans back on her barstool. gets my attention. i lean back to meet her. tells me she is from north carolina too - fayettenam (aka fayetteville) to be precise. we start talking, in back of hillary, as she continues to eat / clean-up her sandwich mess.
time flies by. andres and hillary start picking on each other in a friendly manner. about music tastes... clothes... ethnicities... the norm. "what's the first three words of the mexican national anthem?" andres asks. "attention k-mart shoppers..." hillary, being part-mexican, retorts "you just think you're better than me because you're chilean and not mexican." andres responds "you're right." "what do bricks and fat women have in common?" "they've both been laid by mexicans." hillary sighs in frustration. i laugh my ass off.
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