Boring Coffee Shop Writing

Thought I was first in line and started counting change. I don't want to give my bills away if I have coins. Turned out I didn't have the coinage for my coffee. Turned out the people the barista was talking to were placing an order. I was not first in line. They stepped up and my coins sat in front of them now. I reached in my bag, which held my piggy bank - the tea pitcher I set out for tips on the street. The couple finished paying with plastic. They stepped away with their drinks and delicacies. "A cup of your dark roast for here, please. And I don't need room for cream." Two dollars.
Is this how dull my life is: that I have a coffee shop experience to write and nothing else?
I can write about all the girls with pretty faces that I wish I could gaze on and smile to without my usual nervousness; the girls with tight jeans of all colors and styles with plump, round back-sides that fill the denim that I want to grab and bite and feel against my thighs - up and down, up and down; or their long hair that flows in lovely fullness over their dark pea coats;
or that the book the girl at the caddy-corner table was reading must be a library book. I know because of the sloppy plastic book cover that wrapped it. She was not quite to the middle, but it was a long book and she was well into the story. I don't know what it was about.
The table to my right I can tell you, reader, that the girl was unhappy about her love life, cried, and claimed to use her energy to not kill herself. The guy sitting across from her walked large and wide and loud through the coffee shop. He was angry about something. The third friend sat with his back to me in a wheel chair. He was calmest of the three; seemed to be mediator. Every group of friends needs at least one mediator. The girl reading the library book wore a lovely macramé sweater. I don't guess it did much to warm her. The pattern was sparse. Her long hair would reach the small of her back if she stood up, but she sat cross-legged and talked now politely with someone who else frequented the coffee shop. Inconsequential conversation matters a lot sometimes. Friendly passing. It's nice to see someone you don't know, but know you've seen, and you have the capacity of self not to worry about saying Hello or not, striking conversation, and recognizing when it's time to move on. See you later.