Love, Life, Cigarettes & Starbucks; A satire by James Mollenhauer

It was one of the last Saturday nights in senior year, yet the group found itself assembled around the wrought iron table in back of the café as usual.
"So did you ever decide which college you are going to, Chloé? Is it the one where they offer majors in Veganism or the one that does 'Experimental Film' where they slaughter cattle on camera?" Graham asked, sipping at his sugarless, milk-free latte.
"Oh God," said Aldo, "please say you are going to the vegan school. So many animals die each year of cruelty and even art isn't a just cause!" He ran his fingers over his new Italian leather bag thoughtfully.
Chloé exhaled from her long Gauloise (imported from France) and fluttered her lashes twice (she was wearing the same brand of mascara as Chantal Goya in Masculin Féminin) before responding.
"Neither. I'm not going to school: I am going to move to Paris and share an apartment in the Marais with a French poet named Ludovic. He's très gay; you would love him, Graham. I showed him your Facebook."
"Um, did you mention to Ludo-whatever that Graham has a boyfriend? Like, ME?" ejected Aldo exasperatedly. In honesty, he didn't really like Graham or find him that much attractive, but having a boyfriend was such a brave sociopolitical statement.
"Ludovic," corrected Chloé. Her name was actually Karen by birth, and she knew no French beyond basic words and n'est-ce pas, but nobody needed to know this. She had become un peu obsessed with sixties France after watching a few vintage films and strived after the painful yet simple glamour exuded by vedettes such as Françoise Hardy.
"Don't worry," said Rebecca as she came up for air after trying to remove her boyfriend's face with her lips, "true love will conquer all, Aldo." She would know, of course. She and Dan had been going out for almost a week this coming Monday and she had never known the rapidity with which love progressed. She was so very in love with Daniel Edmund Bishop. Daniel Edward Bishop. Yes, that was right. Wait...
"I don't know where I am going to school" Graham mused. He wanted to major in Fashion Design, of course. Unfortunately, he did not know how to sew. But he was young; these setbacks would be easily resolved.
"Stay and go to Grossmont with me" smiled Aldo, interlacing his fingers with Graham's. Oh God, thought Graham. He would dump Aldo if they weren't so photogenic together.
"Don't go to college." Chloé breathed smoke into their faces. "It only teaches us to conform to the empty paradigms of our parents." Her opinion of disdain for higher education had been solidified when she had received only rejection letters.
"But Ms Collins says I need to go to college to make money or have any possibility of a valuable or pleasant life experience." He had done the math himself; no degree led to a mediocre job, or worse, unemployment, which did not equal Paul Smith (not even Paul Smith Jeans!).
"What do you think, Dan?" asked Aldo. Dan didn't respond. His mouth was occupied, so Aldo just sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Another night at the café. What are we going to do once we all part ways?" he said nostalgically.
"I don't know. But the connections we have made with each other are far more important than our SAT scores or GPA's." Graham had correctly quoted the PowerPoint from the beginning-of-the-year assembly. He thought about it for a moment, and realized it was true.
For a minute, the group stopped talking, smoking, and kissing, and just sat in silence. Then they remembered the outfit Samantha had worn to school on Friday, and had to discuss what a 'trashy ho' she was. Well, come on; she so totally was.

Satire written By James Mollenhauer