A Perfect Evening”
“Dirty, dirty dishes.” That’s the sign that greets me as I walk into Java Joe’s, a coffeehouse downtown, through the back entrance. The container under the sign is piled high with the filthy plates, almost as a testament to the deliciousness they once presented. Java’s is my favorite place in the world–where I can drown all my sorrows in a delectable swirl of caramel and cappuccino. In my hectic life, it is comforting to know that I always have a place to go when I am touched by the bluebird of unhappiness. The screeching fluorescent lights, the brand-new band–no matter what, going down to Java’s relaxes me and puts my mind at ease. The sights, the sounds, the people–they all help to calm my sometimes jittery nerves.
I saunter in with friends, looking absolutely stunning, and glance around. heads turn, whispers abound, and I, listening to the explosive bursts of laughter and hearing the shots of gossip being fired, make my way through the battlefield that is the sitting area. I see a friend, an acquaintance, perhaps an ex; and, as a smile leaps onto my face, I raise my hand and wave at whomever it may be. Like a dog that sniffs at some savory cooking, my nose is instantly brought to attention by the smell of coffee. If all the happiness in the world were to become a smell, I would imagine it would smell just like the lattes and mochas that delight my nose now.
I strut my stuff to the front of the emporium, and place myself in a line of hungry souls that await the nourishment that can only be provided by the great deity that is coffee. I wait patiently, my stomach–anxiously awaiting the drink, of course–running and slamming against the walls of my insides, like a lab rat lost in a maze. While waiting, I look around and take in all the sights aroundme. A couple in the corner looks deep into each others’ eyes as their hands clasp together in an entanglement of fingers on the table. A man contemplates his next move in his chess game–should he risk a knight’s life or sacrifice a high and mighty bishop? My wait in line ends as a trendy girl with two-tone hair and several piercings helps me.
As I take my seat at my usual table with my friends, the band begins to play. The electric hummings that come out of the guitar send shockwaves of musical nirvana screaming at my ears. I sample my French vanilla latte and my tastebuds sing; as the slick liquid descends down my throat, the creamy auburn concoction soothes me. My mind relaxes and I feel at peace. The band plays a new tune and i can almost see the music notes trembling in the air, in glorious harmony.
I am sitting close to the entrance and I watch as people, like bees, swarm in and out of the luscious hive. Some are smiling, some are wearing grievous expressions–perhaps they have had a less than stellar day. I enjoy watchin and perceiving the various type of individuals. I listen intentely to the melody being played and tap my feet in accordance with the beat. My mind wanders and I feel happy and free. A friend shouts at me, his deep resonating voice shattering my peaceful reverie. He says we should go outside and take a walk.
Like a small child who doesnt want to leave the playground, I get off my chair methodically and walk towards the door. I inhale one last breath of that wondrous smell, the smell of fun and relaxation and happiness and everything that’s good all rolled into one. I link arms with a friend and we proceed out joyously. As I walk out, the pink elephant mobile (hanging down from the ceiling) winks at me and I am relaxed as I feel I will ever e. My friend and I step out onto the pavement, our hands and our hearts togehther, and heaven drops down upon us in the form of crystalline snowflakes that soon cover the cool winter ground.
Ok so reading it again id ont like it as much. i really like the last sentence though. and the reason it is so ‘flowery’ is b/c it was supposed to be a descriptive essay, so lots of fig. lang. and stuff.