Downtown, 6:45 p.m. – The floor is dirty and the action is slow

I’m stealing a table at a tres chic coffee shop downtown, slurping up their free WiFi and drinking a smoothie I imported in from another place. I’m the worst kind of customer – the kind that doesn’t buy anything. Maybe I’ll reward them with a visit tomorrow.

Tourists drive me crazy. This woman in an insane hairdo just went by – cackling like a maniac. Think Angelina Jolie in “Girl Interrupted” crazy. Uh-huh.

Despite it being the holiday season, things are fairly quiet. A contingent of middle-aged white men – obviously in town for a convention – just rolled by. They looked to be from the Midwest, by the cut of their shirts, the cut of their hair, the ruddiness of their cheeks and the roundness of their bellies.

Uh-oh. I just saw a coffee slave looking out the window at me. If I’m evicted, I will post the address and you can all send hate mail.

OH GOOD LORD. Bad fashion alert. WOACA alert. Call out the National Guard and tell them that Fort Knox called. We’ve found all the gold!

OK. This WOACA just clattered by. She’s got on a pair of black clamdiggers (yes, another pair) and a black shirt and a black jacket. She’s accessorized all this black with enough gold to fund the economy of a Third World state for a few decades.

There’s a thick heavy gold clasp on the right hand, plus a few more bangles. There’s a whole STACK of bangles on the left arm, which I imagine she believes tinkle like wind chimes as she walks. No. Think wind chimes caught in a hurricane. The gold horn-rimmed glasses are hanging from a gold chain. The steel-wool-gray hair is pulled back with a bright yellow band.

Single female tourist. Poor thing. She’s in traction, well at least one of those walking casts. She looks miserable even though she’s got a yummy-looking chocolate concoction and a bowl of soft-serve ice cream. That must just suck beyond suck – to be about to go on vacation and then break a foot or something.

Ladies. Let me dispense some fashion advice. Even if you are in a tropical climate, jeweled sandals do not pass for “dressy.” If if looks like something you bought at Target and decorated with your Bedazzler, you should not be wearing it with dinner rings and accompanying your husband in a tuxedo. Thank you. We shall now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

You know, for a “gourmet café,” this place has the most deuced uncomfortable furniture. All they’ve got for seating outside are these plastic patio chairs you can pick up at Wal-Mart or Target or K-Mart for like $5. My rear end is used to more padding than mal-formed plastic. Some nice wooden benches would do wonders for the ambience of this place. I’m just saying.

I wonder what the hours are? If they’re open late I could totally come here and use up the free WiFi. Starbucks is such a grinch with the WiFi. But I love the coffee so. Choices.

This place is messy too. Like trashy messy. Some really need to sweep around here. This place and the Sonic both. My grandma – even though she’s 75 – manages to keep her house clean. She’d be ashamed for anyone to see this floor – and these people are asking paying customers to stop and sit a spell.

My god. There is an old woman wishing someone farewell at the top of her lungs. I can hear her over traffic noise. Does everyone on the street really need to know “THAT WAS A GOOD DINNER. I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW?”

There’s a boy making rude noises with a straw. How cute. He’s obviously old enough to know better – but looks like he’s having a world of fun. He’s flipping through a real estate magazine – the kind they leave out for tourists that have all the $8 million dollar mansions.

If anyone bought me an $8 million dollar house – they could make all the rude noises they wanted.

OK. Another café slave is giving me dirty looks as he brings out the trash. Not cute, but scowly.

OK. OK. I’m leaving.