I was down at the Hudson Bay Cafe last Thursday, trying to catch up on stacks of papers and waiting for the library to open. I generally avoid cafes because they're filled with melodramatic conversations about people's problems, and theirs soon become mine. About two bad essays, an almond muffin and a latte later, two dudes sit down at the window table next to me and begin talking poetry. The black dude basically listens while the horned rimmed glasses dude spouts. Baraka this and structure that and positivism hoodydoody do. Once again unable to concentrate, I packed up and left.

Well, I guess one man's pretension is another's poetic gold.