How do you like your frappuccino?

Well, that was a new one. I'm watching a metrosexual pair of tourists ... give oral pleasure to a pair of frappuccinos. And just when I had thought of packing up to leave.

I saw them come in just as I thought of shoving off for the night. Germans, probably by the vowels. One is wearing the tightest royal blue A&F polo I've ever seen on a twenty-something, with glittering black gemstones in either ear and a popped collar that would make any guido proud.

The other one has a tight gray T-shirt, a faux hawk and a scarf artfully coiled around his neck. Denim shorts and Fila sandals complete the look.

They both order frappuccinos and prowl the restaurant while they blenders whir. They inspect the merchandise, the table, the pastry case, even the rack of day-old newspapers on the walls. Tourists, through and through. Every experience is exciting, fresh and new.

The frappuccinos come - and the fun begins.

They sit down at a four-top - facing each other and take the lids off.

They've got straws, but decide not to use them. Instead, they start dipping their tongues into the whipped cream and start licking it up, almost as if a pair of cats digging into a large saucer of cream.

I try not to stare - but they are blissfully unaware of anyone and anything else but the sugar bombs in front of them - and it is quite a sight.

The one in the scarf sticks his whole nose in, makes a sucking sound and gets a huge gulp of whipped cream and chocolate into his mouth. He licks his lips and wipes his nose - only missing a dot of whipped cream.

Popped collar laughs and reaches across the table to wipe it away.

I get the feeling I've just watched something incredibly intimate.

They bend back to work on the frappuccinos - and tear through them. Within three or four minutes, they're gone - and the tourists with them. Walking, side by side, into the night.