one hundred. sixty one.

Today a man sat in a leather chair in the coffee shop, talking to his friend.
He slowly slid down until half his body was off the chair, his butt hanging off the edge, his head squashed into his shoulder, neck completely gone.
His arms hung limply over the edge, as if useless and attached only by small pins, like a marionette someone had just dropped on the chair.
It was a funny thing.
He was also talking in a different language, which made the whole situation more interesting to observe.

Today I dropped a pitcher on the ground.
[Typical.]
I was serving a man coffee and my elbow just knocked it right off the counter.
The man took his coffee, and then said "Good luck. We're all rooting for you."
It was a funny thing.
That was the same man who came in before he'd had his coffee, and said in all seriousness: "Hi, I need a large coffee with cream for room."
"Cream for room?" I repeated.
"Yes, cream for room." He still didn't realize what he was saying.
I got him the coffee with the room and he didn't even realize it until he was about to walk out the door.
"ROOM. FOR. CREAM." He hollered.
It was a funny thing.