Today at Starbucks the featured Dark Roast was French Roast. Oooh la la! I wish I could bathe in it, breathe it in. Unfortunately, one grande-sized cup has about all the caffeine I can tolerate lest it keep me up all night.
On a frugal (and kosher) budget, a trip to Starbucks entertains me for less than three dollars. I generally order a plain, black coffee and eschew the frillier selections. If I’m feeling adventurous I’ll ask for whipped cream on top, but it dilutes the stark, intense flavor I adore.
One Starbucks is like another, yet different. The combination of layout, clientele, music, lighting and noise level distinguish one from another. The one I’m sitting in tonight sports few electric plugs. I’ve taken to bringing an extension cord with me, fitted with a three-prong adapter, so I can sit at a table in the middle instead of hunching over a short table near the armchairs and plugs. The employee sweeping up said I’m the first person he’s seen do this. It’s subtle, and I hope nobody complains, or worse yet, trips over the cord.
Tonight, the atmosphere thickens with fog, and water droplets cling like jewels to the tree which is backlit by the parking lot’s spotlights. Feeling sentimental. It’s nearly the end of 2015. I’m reluctant to leave the coffee-infused atmosphere. I drained my second cup (decaf, naturally) an hour ago, but I keep thinking of more tasks to do while I have access to WiFi. Just one more word, just one more check-in. Just one more…
The rain began without my noticing it. I’m in coffee-land, computer-land, blog-land. The customers come and go. I suck the last drops out of my cup and prepare to go home, out of one cocoon into another.