OCR Text |
Show 152 I told them hello and said that I could use some coffee before we did anything else. They both sort of agreed, Steve's coffee shop skepticism canceled out by the Tamara surprise. The closest coffee shop was across the street. Before we walked in, Steve scouted the place through the windows. "That's one, two turtlenecks-with at least two blind spots unaccounted for," he said. "We could be looking at three to four turtlenecks in there." "The turtleneck is legitimate enough apparel," I said. He stared at me. "Am I not wearing mine?" I said, feeling my neck. "I must have left it at home. Which explains why my neck is freezing. Come on, let's go." "I don't know. Seems like a high price to pay just to break the word of wisdom," Steve said. "Tamara, weigh in," I said. "What do you think?" "Turtlenecks are fine," she said. And, outvoted, Steve followed us in. We had just ordered our drinks-straight-up coffee for me, a complicated drink involving both vanilla and caramel for Tamara, and orange juice in a plastic cup for Steve-when the barista stood in front of the shop and announced that it was open mic night tonight. I already knew that Steve was going to say this was God's punishment for drinking coffee, so I avoided eye contact with him and talked to Tamara, meanwhile crossing my fingers that the first performer's song wouldn't be about nature or heartbreak. Otherwise Steve would undoubtedly come up with a way to turn up his anti-Avenues revenge. |