Observations In Starbucks

Standing in the Starbucks line I have ample time to observe the woman beside me, her lips and fingernails painted bright red like a billboard she fancies herself the main attraction inadvertently advertising her desperate need to be noticed The tables dotted with individuals using their computer screens and newspapers like barricades they hide inside fiercely protecting themselves from inconvenient interaction The boy behind the counter takes my order his scarred hands moving swiftly, sinewy arms decorated with intricate tattoos tall, decaf, nonfat sugar-free gingerbread latte, he seems bored disinterested, even dismissing me as chaste and sensible just another suburban soccer mom The man behind me talks on his cell phone, like a guilty voyeur I listen to his side of the conversation; in my head, inventing some sordid scenario to go along with his clipped responses My husband waits for me in the parking lot like a beacon of hope his truck, warm idling eagerly anticipating my return.