Starbucks Coffee

On nights like this, when I’ve been in the house by myself all day, I have a crav­ing for some­thing. Not just for a taste, but an expe­ri­ence, among the lights and the shadows.

A while ago, I found the right place with the right ambiance. A place with­out the dis­trac­tions of my house. Where I can write with­out think­ing of what other work I should be doing.

I always tell myself that I’ll go tomor­row. It’s always tomor­row (the same day that most diets start). So I force myself to get in the car and drive.

When I walk in, I have to remem­ber the nomen­cla­ture. Tall means small, grande means medium, venti means large.

Along with this crav­ing comes a thirst for some­thing sweet and warm to drink, hark­ing to the days I lived unem­ployed, and my favourite thing to do was drink all sorts of strong cof­fees and teas. My stom­ach will pay for this later.

The cups always feel nice in the hand. Maybe I’m a sucker for good design — the pure white, the clean lines, the tex­tured insu­lat­ing sleeve with promi­nent cor­po­rate logo.

Sometimes, I need to go out to be alone. A warm drink is com­pany enough.