“I’ll have a venti caramel macchiato and can you add an extra shot of espresso... ...and then like, you know, to compensate with the sweetness because of that extra shot, can I get like two extra pumps of vanilla??? ...oh, and an apple fritter”
that’s what she said
no joke really for real I was right there in line behind her patiently waiting staring off into space and licking the back of my teeth huffing my face mask thinking about how once the allotted word count is exceeded it’s no longer about coffee it’s about some kind of personal identity expository essay or horseshit jibber jabber debate on the wire monkey vs the cloth monkey or trust funds or disparity or the perception of our place in the universe at this exact moment or organized religion oh wait are you fucking kidding me how can you get through the day trying to communicate all that shit to the barista muffled through a face mask and two layers of sneeze glass and how in fact her macchiato mashup is nothing compared to the foo-foo drinks so-called-Seattle-coffee people order all the time and then I watched the student worker cashier fumbling to ring the shit up as she couldn’t find enough buttons to cover all the variables to get the ten bucks out of the customer...
...then it was my turn and I said
I’d like a tall drip
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