Dear New/Old Owner of (Formerly) Ravenheart Coffee,
You are cute, sir. I mean it. I like your glasses and your attention to detail and how you play Ella Fitzgerald throughout the day instead of the "I hate my parents" emo pop regulars of of last year's play list—that talent-free, purple headed slut from Paramore, and her buddy, the pussy from Florida who wrote that song about 'your hair' and how it's 'eeeeeeehveryyyywhere'—you're a man; grow a dick.
I like how clean your coffee shop is. I like the hours. I like how nobody is screwing minors in the stock room. I like the new furniture and how the tables are separated, and not all lumped together, because that makes it easier for me to be the dark, scary loner I am, and I'm gonna be honest with you—when I'm fresh from my stop at the Safeway sandwich shop, and I've only just eaten my nosh with my Sugar Free Monster Energy drink, I'm absolutely in need of personal space to freely burp and fart within the confines of, and no, I don't want to have to deal with anybody being up in my grill with their crystals/aliens talk when cometh the gas.
Also...deodorant. Nobody in Sedona seems to know what that shit is and I'm not wearing a nose plug while I work.
That said, I have to ask if it would be possible for you not to give me a dirty look every time I come in, buy things from you, spend money in your establishment, and stay on your wi-fi for more than an hour. I realize you'd prefer that your customers come in, drop money and get the eff out, and that you refer to such behavior as "sociable," which totes makes it nice and not all what it really is, which is usery or insensitivity or blatant disregard for what it is that people do in coffee shops, and I realize you have rent to pay, rent that can only be paid if people buy things from you, but guess what: you own and run something called a coffee shop. That's a place that people go to for coffee and also a table to work on.
I know that upsets you. Maybe you could open a McDonalds or something?
Oh wait. McDonalds offers free wi-fi.
PS—And for the love of God, man, swap out the "art" for some art. Please. I'm pretty sure that piece on the way to the shitter is just scrap metal hit with a belt sander, and the remainder is either one of two things: Basha's produce section decoration, or Freshman year Photoshop 101 at Art Institute of Detroit, circa '95 (minus the guy who does the colorful portraits of the smiling ladies—dude's good.) Chris Spheeris is only smoking hot, not smoking hot and good at art, and when you mix your assessment of his work up with your appreciation for his loins, you get...the inside of your coffee shop.