Lifestyle

Wynn’s coffee shop

On a gloomy and grey Friday morning, I find myself sat in Wynn’s coffee shop. I’ve just dropped my car off for a service, and am told by a friendly mechanic it will be ready in an hour. I trudge out into the streets of my local town- it’s really quite a tired place. I find myself strolling along the streets, peering into charity shops and old closed down empty buildings. Soon enough I notice there really isn’t a lot to do here in an hour that will make the time fly by. As I start to feel the splashes of icy cold rain hitting my cheeks, I seek salvation in an old and run down cafe; Wynn’s coffee shop. I walk inside and there is a distinct old feel about this place- everything is brown. Brown walls, brown floors, brown tables, brown counter tops, and the tinny sound of Elvis is coming through the speakers. I haven’t had breakfast yet so I decide I may as well take a seat- I order a cappuccino and a toasted tea cake, and take a seat at a small table, with perfect viewing for ‘people watching.’ A group of retirees bumble in, laughing and taking a seat just by the front window; you can tell they’re regulars here, as the assistant knows straight away their order. A group of builders come trudging in for breakfast, taking a seat at the big table at the back and placing their orders of blt’s and baguettes. An old lady walks in with her husband, straight away complaining to the cafe assistant that they don’t have her favourite cake in stock. She jokes with the him(even though you can tell she’s secretly furious) orders two lattes and takes a seat.

As I sit here watching the story of Wynn’s coffee shop unfold, I start thinking to myself about my life, and how that’s unfolding. I’m living in a small rented Anex with a nosy landlady living next door, university debt hanging over my head and wishing the weeks away until my next pay cheque comes in. My life has become stressful and unhappy, and I think to myself how I let it get this bad. I’d brought with me a book to read which was meant to motivate me to turn my eating habits around, but now that feels somewhat pathetic.

However, sat here and writing this, I realise I’m doing something that I enjoy. Writing, creating a scene for someone else to picture and imagine themselves sat in. So here in begins my journey to writing.

And what better channel to start documenting my own thoughts and creativity, than to start a blog?

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