Fire and Ice, A Room of One’s Own

I go to Caffe Bene (an Asian Starbuck’s) to read and write at a corner table while I have my coffee. Suddenly, a terrible alarm goes off. Think a zillion duck calls amplified in your ears without pause. I’m gathering my stuff to get out of there before the place cafe and my eardrums burst, one into flames, the other into deafness. The other customers are sitting there slurping with their sugary drinks piled high with whipped cream, sometimes topped with shards of chocolate. Remember when a cup of Joe was no calories unless you added milk?

Well, the folks who were drinking these sugar highs stayed inside, continuing to drink. Even a woman with an infant wouldn’t leave her double chocolate whatever. When I think of all those babies with headphone silencers and Yankee games and concerts, and this one with his sugar-stoned Mama had to bear the sound, I want to scre-eam-mmm.

When I consider that the place might fill with smoke, with flames, and still the folks are drinking to the last drop, I realize how great those drinks must be. Maybe next time.

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