Can you sleep inside Starbucks?

There's a man sitting in the comfy chairs.

Actually, that's an inaccurate description.

He's ASLEEP in the comfy chairs.

I'm personally astounded by this. There are about a dozen customers in the place - including a group of rambunctious twentysomethings draped over two of the chairs and yammering about where they're headed tonight.

The regular Wednesday night group has been reduced to two - but they're having a high-volume Facetime conversation via iPad with the other members at one of the four-tops. Something about knitting.

Grandma Moses - the one who tried to snatch my "special" mocha, then denied it by saying "I'd never try to take a big cup" - is wearing a buttercup yellow tunic with a charming pattern of puppy dog feet wending over it. She looks like Olympia Dukakis without the fashion sense.

Our gang of five is growing more animated. Two of the couples have adopted that "girl sit on boy laps" pose on the arms of the armchairs. The air conditioner is working overtime to keep the temperature (and other things) from rising.

The lone wolf of the pack sucks a frappuccino and looks - forlornly - at a strung-out hipster in cut-offs and tattoos standing in line. Back away buddy. She's trouble.

If you want a woman, just put down down the frappuccino and pick up some cottage cheese.

One of the baristas - who's re-stocking the cold case - comes over. She and I have a consult (you may now approach the bench) about the potential sleeper.

She stares. I stare. He doesn't move.

She stares. I stare. He doesn't move.

"Is he reading?" she asks?

I look over - and there's a book in his hands - but the eyes aren't moving. And nothing has moved for a long time.

She stares. I stare. He doesn't move.

The frappuccino blender whirs into motion yet again - and the slumbering giant jerks his head.

Yep. He was asleep.

He looks around but I look away. I see him fold the book he was "reading" and put it on the table beside the chair.

Then, he goes to the register and orders a shot of espresso in a for-here cup. I love those tiny little things.

Once it arrives, he knocks it back and hands the cup back across the counter.

He goes back to his chair, gathers up the books and sails off into the night.

I'm not sure I'm brave enough to sleep in public.

Are you?