Lawrence Hall
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The ‘Way-Cool
Coffee Shop
Down
in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into
spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed
to be no colour in anything…
-George Orwell, 1984
Dirty windows glare out onto the parking lot
Where debris is blown by the sour winter wind
While worn-out Mardi Gras decorations
Slap against old awnings and creaking poles
The get-it-yourself coffee is cold
Every pump: the purported French Roast
Vienna Nights, Istanbul Breakfast Blend
Jamaican Mountain Select, American Road
They go well with the rubbery croissant
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