Menthol : 04.27.03 @ 4:19 pm

She could almost feel the cigarette smoke eating away at the enamel of her teeth and the wet healthy pinkness of her lungs. She reminded herself briefly that she didn't smoke and wasn't a smoker, and could stop if she just wanted to.
She inhaled the sweet taste of menthol and shifted on the carton she sat on, wishing she had someone to talk to. Tens were almost a waste of time if there was no one there to chat meaninglessly with. The back of Starbucks was littered with butts from previous tens not her own. She took another drag off of her cigarette, a sharp, cruelly deep intake and muffled her cough.

She was tired. Her knees and heels protested their treatment, her brain was on automatic pilot and had been all morning.

Tall latte.
Two dollars and sixty-six cents, sir.
Thank you, have a good day.

One shot of espresso.
Milk.
Foam.

Brew the decaf, clean the counter, restock the cups.

_____ 's sharp voice in the background, no, not that way, that's completely wrong [you idiot]. For the second time, do it this way [How long have you worked here? Are you slow? Are you stupid? Are you deaf?].

Frappe mix to the first green line.
Ice.
Pour in blender.
Two pumps Mocha.
Blend.

You have to put the blenders in the sink (... mumble mumble...)! [Can't do anything right/I have to do everything myself!]
I was tending a customer, she thought bitterly. That's what I'm supposed to do.

She scowled at the thoughts of work that invaded her tired and fuzzy brain and put out the last of her cigarette in the wet mud. She pushed herself up, her knees groaning in protest.
I'm too young for aches.
The lighter slipped into her pocket and she walked across the parking lot and entered the CVS, trying not to let her mother's upper middle class elitist feelings get in the way of getting what she wanted from the ghetto-ed out CVS.

She skimmed through the newspaper and was reminded of the night before, another argument with her esteemed father.
Homosexual behavior somehow deserves to be illegal and ranked up their with drug trafficking, rape, and second degree murder.
Because loving someone is the same as depriving them of their dignity, slicing their neck and leaving them to bleed in a dark ally all alone.
(Sometimes it is)

Thanks, Dad, I love you too.

Double A batteries.
Five o'seven.
Three cents back.
Pennies are ever so useless.

One of the regular lesbian couples sit with their son outside of Starbucks.
Iced Soy Chai Latte.
Iced Venti White Mocha.
And an on-clearance easter cookie for their son.

Hey, Amy, how are you?
I'm good.
That's good...

Funny how automatic reactions always precede truths, she thinks.
She tucks in her shirt and tugs the apron on over her head.

Hello, sir, how can I help you?

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