Compose a story according to the viewpoint of a problematic storyteller
Take last Tuesday, for instance. That is the point at which everything went down. I was staying out of other people's affairs, same as some other day, tasting some espresso at the little bistro on twelfth Road. Presently, this bistro — it's exceptional. Tranquil, curious. The sort of spot that feels like confidential. I've been going there for quite a long time, however very few individuals appear to take note. With the exception of the barista, obviously — her name's Mia, and she's consistently great. She even said she cherished my scarf that morning, red silk, my number one. "It suits you," she said. I generally recall easily overlooked details like that, the consideration of outsiders. Individuals don't give Mia enough credit, yet I see her.
