i feel like i have bad prose 💀

I genuinely don’t know what to do, lol. Whenever I read my writing, I feel my prose drags so badly. Maybe it’s just a mental thing? I really have no clue at this point.

here’s an example.

(this is a story about a vampire who works at a coffee shop).

Making my way out of the train station, the air smelled sweet; of rain and earth. My work shoes crunched against the pavement as I walked, the coffeehouse nearing closer. The store was a part of a two story shopping complex, wedged beneath a business casual clothing store. Like most buildings here, it was built of brick— adorned with large, emerald green framed windows and a matching glass door. To others, the building seemed out of place; old and rustic—clashing against the modern city sprouting around it. But to me, it was charming and vintage. Closing my umbrella, I pressed my back against the entrance and let myself in. Resting by the front counter was my manager. His eyes lit up when he saw me, a cherub-esque smile splitting his face in half. “Nice to see you, Ms. Katz.” Abe stepped away from the counter, and towards me. I didn’t want him to get closer, I cringed. He always smelled of unbaked, sour bread—and looked like it too. Soft, and beige. His face was round and doughy, with sunken in eyes that rivaled the wrinkliest of raisins. A bulbous nose settled in-between them, with thick-framed glasses askew on the tip. Underneath it, swollen pink lips. Rough little patches of acne swelled beneath his cheeks, tinging his skin a slight coral red. As I walked towards him, I plastered on a bright, fake smile. Smiling back, Abe’s already reddened cheeks colored further. “Nice to see you today, Ms. Katz.” “You said that already.” I stated, forcing my eyes not to roll. Mortals were such easy prey. A girl catches their gaze, and suddenly they’re rendered brainless. Right now, Abe’s mouth gaped soundlessly, searching for the right words. Per usual, a touch of compulsion came in handy. “Did you do something different today? You look—nice.” That’s the most I knew Abe would give me. Nodding, another faux-smile stretched across my lips. “Yeah, I just tried some new moisturizer, that’s all.” By the lit-up look in Abe’s eyes, I could tell moisturizer didn’t mean jack to him. Dollar signs practically danced in his pupils. “You need to work register today.” Knew it. All prior times I’d worked register, the tip jar had nearly overflown.

Shuffling past the front counter, I looked over our work area, assessing the amount of time it would take to set up shop. The tall, black steeled shelves were empty from closing shift, so we’d definitely have to restock. Each morning, we lined them with bulky bags of coffee mixes, a pain to carry. Below the shelves, sat shiny wooden countertops. Running my hand against them, I could still feel some sticky residue—some four-oh-nine would do the job. Atop the finished wood, rested our equipment—two compact blenders, a rusty espresso machine, a coffee grinder. Upon my further inspection, they seemed clean enough.