The bunnies know the truth

[desperance]

The campus is empty of students and full of rabbits, at seven o'clock of a Saturday morning. By eight o'clock, the Turtle Rock cafe is full of writers and I am full of coffee and experimenting with this curious notion called "breakfast".

I like this place, and would happily export it to Sunnyvale. I dislike being disloyal to the Bean Scene, but here there are nooks and corners and angles that better suit my notion of where-to-write. In fact, I never have written in the Bean Scene; it's where I go to meet friends, not to work. (I am pining a little for a Sunnyvale Saturday morning, when Karen and I would cycle downtown to the farmers' market, meet up with people over coffee, maybe drop by the bike shop for this or that before heading home...)

Instead I'm sitting here writing about adventures on Mars and listening to the Zombies and watching the Test Match develop and wondering whether the pre-formed pre-cooked disc of scrambled egg has yet reached the UK. Here it seems to be ubiquitous, but I don't believe I ever met it before. Maybe that's just because I never eat breakfast out, except in hotels.

Comments

[movingfinger]

A proper writing cafe must have nooks and crannies. Perhaps you need to sniff around a bit more and keep Bean Scene for meeting people but locate another congenial cafe for writing.

There are no good writing cafes near me, there are only unsuitable ones full of people with laptops...

[flick]

wondering whether the pre-formed pre-cooked disc of scrambled egg has yet reached the UK

Dear god, I hope not. It sounds (as an eggs-should-be-so-soft-as-to-be-practically-raw person) like an utterly hideous abomination.

[desperance]

We are as one, you and I, in the matter of eggy doneness. I was scrambling eggs on holiday with friends, and one of 'em peered over my shoulder and shuddered and said "That's not scrambled, that's soup..."