I go to his studio and gallery. He creates all types of art.
He teaches people how to make art of their own.
He is an old, kind man who creates connections with other local artists in the Midwest. He is a friend of mine.
He is surrounded by other people's art and his own.
He wears rectangle glasses and have white hair marking his age.
He is going to let me read my handwritten poems at his studio in the winter.

She is black and I am white.
I work in the kitchen most of the time and she works the cash register every night. She is a lesbian and I am bisexual.
I met her wife and kids. Great people. We were both new at the gas station then we became best friends in the matter of weeks.
We keep each other sane. I appreciate and enjoy every hour I get to spend with her. She calls me her favorite person.
She keeps me human and I am glad met her. I knew the first day I met her, she was one of a kind.

Kind, light blue eyes and bright blonde hair.
He is tough on everyone but sweet to those who work hard.
He isn't from my small town. He like an older brother that I never knew that I wanted. Someone who can hold me accountable for my pacing when making pizzas and rewards me for having a good ethic with free food. He is the kitchen manager at the gas station I work at.
He is adorably mainstream cultured and he makes dad jokes on the clock. I trust him because he treats me as though I am normal when I know that I am not but I don't mind. Mostly because he sees me as his equal and he trust me with the kitchen. Sure sometimes he is a **** but sometimes he have to be in order for other people to see things his way.

You with your precious learning blue eyes and tan skin.
You regulate your blood sugar problem known as Type 1 Diabetes.
You are the new kid and an intelligent kid at work. You are the boss's pet. You try so hard to please everyone else it's adorable.
You are a good friend and a hard-worker.
We trade life stories and nobody cares what we talk about.
You aren't an idiot and I like that about you.

I fell you in the 6th grade. You wanted to be friends.
We stayed friends. You met my best friend. At youth group growing up throughout the years you were the popular weird boy. I saw you perform at church. You went to my graduation party. I went to your wedding and you got married to someone else. I am proud of you.

Your coffee brown eyes and dark brown curly hair.
That smile and your voice.
Owner of a coffee shop, smart, creative, innovative and yet you call me friend.
Coffee Boy, you have no idea how happy both your ambition and dark chocolate Americano make me. I hope we become best friends one day. Your everyone-is-my-friend personality is probably why your coffee shop is so successful.
Coffee Boy, you are an optimistic ray of sunshine in a dreary, pretentious small town. You understand why I am a writer. Same way I understand why you are a coffee shop owner.
Creativity is a lifestyle.
Coffee Boy, you peaked my interest.