you’re sitting in a cafe, a menu in front of you. a man walks in, brown hair, more confidence than you’ve ever seen. “excuse me.” he says. “you’re in my seat.” he accuses. “am i?” you ask. he nods. “look, that’s my juice. i even made a straw wrapper caterpillar, but you’re welcome to finish it.” he says. “i believe in you.” he adds. “do you want me to move?” you ask. he sits next to you. “not anymore. what are you getting?”