Three moments at Starbucks

Tonight, we meditate on time, transition and the fleeting nature of permanence. Our subjects number five. Plus four purple chairs. And one Starbucks cafe table.

Before we start, I'd like to thank everyone for the responses to the last few posts. I can't promise that the new Starbucks Drama will continue with "more empathy," but obviously some of you like it.

Sitting down in those comfy chairs, you never really think about who sat down there an hour - or even twenty minutes - before. Who else shared your space? And whose life intersected yours?

Love is in the air tonight - a cliche, to be sure, but true. The scent of romance hangs heavy in the air, as redolent as the aroma of brewing coffee, a hint of cinnamon and a faint whiff of acrid detergent. They did just mop the floors. This is Starbucks - and we're here for another episode of "As The Espresso Brews."

A delicate young man walks to the register. He studies the board. He does not order. He's wearing blue jeans and a simple black tee. His so-blonde-as-to-be-white hair is cropped fairly close, although there's a hint of style - and gel in the front.

As he studies the menu board, he repeatedly checks an older model cell phone. Magenta, with numerous scratches and dents. Phone. Menu. Phone. Menu. When a gaggle of teenage girls comes in to order frappuccinos (yes, while the rest of the country freezes, Florida roasts), he politely steps back and continues to study the menu board.

He finally orders and goes to sit in a comfy chair. They're purple. The chairs, and arranged in a foursome in one corner of the cafe. Easily the most desirable real estate in this Starbucks - the only real drawback is that they're impossible to manage if you want to use a laptop. But other than that .... they're wonderful for reading.

The boy - he must either be in high school or just out of high school into college - keeps checking his phone. I've called him delicate, which is code for "probably doesn't like girls." I think he's waiting for someone - only, he doesn't know exactly who the someone is, or if that someone will show up. He must have checked his phone 20 times within ten minutes.

He gets his drink - a basic cappuccino or mocha by the looks of it, sips it and doesn't like it. He wrinkles his nose. Starbucks must be a new experience for him. He's so nervous. You can see it writ large on his face. Every emotion - "will they show up?" and "what do I do if they don't?" or "what do I do if they do!" He checks his phone again.

He sips the coffee and stares out the window. He's coiled like a spring. And he gets a message.

Another .... boy (Yes. That was inevitable.) arrives. They greet awkwardly and talk. The tension that rushed from the first boy in the black shirt after he got the message is ratcheted right back up watching him interact with this new boy, who's wearing blue jeans and a grey tee. Very basic.

They have sparks - I'll give them that - although they're just standing in front of the register. There is clearly something going on while Boy #2 gets a frappuccino. You could cut the sexual tension with a spork. They sit down in the comfy chairs and stare at each other and their phones for ten minutes - then decide to move outside. Puppy love is so cute.

Twenty minutes later, in the same seat, the event that inspired me to structure this post, I see another side of life.

This is ... not so cute. The abyss of old age opens before us.

I watch an older woman, wearing an outfit that looks like it came from Talbot's, Chico's or possibly Ann Taylor Loft, order a cappuccino in a for-here cup. She gets that and a piece of  cinnamon coffee cake on a plate.

Once the coffee comes, she takes it and sits in the same purple comfy chair that black tee had sat in.

At first, I think it is a nice break for her, until I see the look of unbearable sadness on her face, almost as if the wearies of life were punishing her, pushing her to her grave. I believe they were.

There's a deep, deep sigh, and she starts rummaging around in a cavernous Coach purse. Probably the real thing. Maybe not. Irrelevant. She fishes up envelopes, a compact, an eyeglasses case. And finally a pillbox.

She looks at it with some unhappiness before dumping the pills out. And she starts swallowing, one by one. Pill. Sip of coffee. Bite of pastry. Repeat at least four times.

She finishes the pills and pushes the half-finished pastry away. She sips the coffee and jams the pillbox back into her purse. There's a brief moment of contentment when she sits back, closes her eyes and just lets the tension wash out of her.

We'll never understand what that life is like - being tied to a timer. It doesn't look pleasant. It doesn't look fun. The excitement of a first date has given way to the whims and infirmities of old age - old age that is being suffered alone.

And the third act of our drama draws to a neat close with an interesting look at the future. Literally. There are tarot cards involved. I could not have plotted this better if I'd tried.

Two spaced-out college kids wander in. I'm not entirely sure they're even on this planet - or any other. They can barely make coherent sentences while trying to order a pair of double chocolate chip frappuccinos.

The girl has unwashed sweatpants and carries a backpack that looks like it weighs more than she does. The wispy tendrils of blonde hair that escape from her knit hat don't look to have more than a passing familiarity with soap and water.

The boy is worse. His blonde hair wasn't originally. It has dark roots an oak tree would be proud to claim and everything he is wearing could be described as "frayed." There's fashionable frayed - and then there's "mistaken for homeless frayed."

I don't quite know how to describe the ... presence. They're so touch-feely - but entirely in slow-motion. They keep zipping and un-zipping each other's backpacks, and sticking hands in EACH OTHER'S pockets. Yes. They're THAT COUPLE - and probably high to boot.

Upon the arrival of the frappuccinos, they sit down in the comfy chairs, with the girl taking the same one appropriated by our previous two occupants. From the depths of her bag comes - of all things - a box of oversize Tarot cards.

They sit there for a while, with the Tarot cards on the table between them. There are unexplained giggles.

While Percy Sledge blares out over the sound system, she shuffles up and deals. He stares at the cards. She leafs through a booklet to try and decipher his future.

They stare deep into each other's eyes. I feel like I'm watching the future of America ... slide right down the tubes. But they're young, happy (at least it seems like) and interested in something.

"When A Man Loves A Woman" comes on. They sit and stare blankly out across the cafe. 

Such is life. Such is life.

I wonder what my future holds?