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364 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2007
I have no idea what a double skinny latte mocha with a tangerine shot or something is. But coffee it is not. I sat in this smoke-free, squeaky-clean, sanitized dump on Humboldt, squeezed between a launderette and what looked like an appealing book store. feeling I'd wandered into some adolescent's dream of what grown-up life ought to be like.
There were cushions of many colours, meaningless paintings on the wall, soft unmemorable music, and cups the size of Bavarian bierkeller mugs. Most people seemed to be sipping on gallons of warm sweet milk while chewing tiny fancy biscuits that cost the price of a meal the last time I had walked down Humboldt. In between sucks they played around with little computers on their laps, spoke on their tiny phones, and even, in a couple of rare misfit cases, read something that had once been a tree.