I’m doing some writing at Jo’s Coffee again. When you’re a guest of Jo’s you have choices. Not just soy, skim, foam on the side, but there’s seating to consider. You can sit facing the parking lot, or you can take advantage of the view: a highway. Okay, so Congress Avenue isn’t exactly a highway; it’s a two-way, three lane boulevard, with the name Avenue. I’ve chosen to face the thoroughfare, given that there’s an ice cream shop across the way, and I can at least take breaks looking up at a billboard of milky white cow udders.
The people who come to Jo’s are the type who eat seeds. The women: plastic red-framed glasses. Nose rings. Tofu farts. Jungle crotch. Tapestry shoulder bags. Weekend art fair earrings. A hoodie with fluorescent lining. The dudes have chops. Bandanna hair. Cowboy boots. Thick leather wrists. Silver sidewalk rings. Camouflage wallets, Rainbow Bright Care Bear tees. Every single person here would describe themselves as “artsy.” If I sound judgmental, it’s because I am.
This is the grunge punk converse sneaker part of Austin. I choose to come here because this, this is living the slogan Keep Austin Weird. See, here at Jo’s, I’m the freak. And I’m okay with that. Who knows, maybe I’ll make a new friend here today. Then I can get to the bottom of this atrocious tapestry bag movement.