There’s always somebody falling asleep, no matter what time of day.
The kids around here go around the clock, getting paper, making bank, and such.
The owner will bust you up if you get caught sleeping, if you get caught taking a nap,
so they like to wear long-billed caps and prop up books and gulp espresso.
There’s always somebody making a scene, causing a ruckus outside.
The kids around here absorb drama along with their Vitamin D, with their air.
The owner will throw you out flat if you start any trouble, if you pick a fight,
so they like to take out their aggression on bottles of beer in the parking lot.
There’s always somebody showing off with whatever talent they got.
The kids around here are so special, so filled with angst about their craft.
The owner will hand you a mic or throw your art on the wall but he doesn’t care
so they like to pretend he’s got taste, that he’s some kinda critic, that it’s a reward.
There’s always somebody grinning behind the counter, come what may.
The kids around here drive themselves berserk, so caught up in all their wheels.
The owner will sit in a booth and drink coffee and chat a while with you
so they like to pretend he’s harmless, that he’s not the only sane one here.