It's right when you walk in to the left, and during lunch time it's filled with loners with their lap tops and books. I love it.
I think it's when you hit about 67 that you decide, "I don't give a #&@$ about anything."
"You can see my bra through this shirt?....What of it?"
"I cut you in line?....What of it?"
"You can smell my baby powder and hair from your table?...What of it?"
"I entered the Hwy at 35 mph?....What of it?"
"I put 3 packs of salt on everything I eat?...What of it?"
Why do people walk around with ear buds in their ears always listening to music? Is your inner monologue that lame?
