The Bucks

Even the soothing sounds of Norah Jones couldn't break through the negativity. The line at the Bucks was out the door this morning. Caffeine addiction is a serious business, apparently. And our dealers wear seasonally colored aprons. Everything’s great if we can get it fast. But insert a bottleneck in supply chain? Madness. It was an interesting juxtaposition, I thought, as I stood about nine people away from my reduced-fat banana chip coffee cake. On one hand, I felt very wholesome and wintery. Norah Jones was singing I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. The smell of coffee and cocoa filled the air. There were sweet things all around me. But on the other hand, I noticed that no one was smiling. People were cutting in line and, very unabashedly and loudly, being told to take their place. There was tension. Depressing news was streaming silently in the background. And it was cold. Despite all this, there we stood. "I’m dreaming of a white... foamy latte."

Cracked

After a three month break, I'm back. Still in DC. Still observing life's little eccentricities. Yet I feel freer. I feel that sense of reality. And I am beyond happy. Unfortunately, I am no longer taking the bus. And the cold dark quittin' time of late doesn't allow me to bike either. Not that I mind, of course. This allows me to walk with someone wonderful everyday. And, as a result, I now observe life from sidewalks and street corners. Not a bad view, I must admit. Well, except for that butt crack I saw this morning. As we stood at the corner waiting for the light, he (i.e., "Butt Crack") bent over to pick up a small Starbucks bag. No doubt it was filled with some highly-sugared yet delicious treat. But wow. The sacrifices we make.