No Whip

Sitting in Starbucks, drinking a tall mocha...no whip...and reading The Rum Diary.
I usually sit in one of the comfy wooden chairs but opted for the boothish padded thing along the wall. Its not comfortable either.
Two portly woman sat across the way and cackled at each other's stories.
Three old woman came in. One glanced at me and wondered aloud if the store was closing...I have no idea if I figured into the question.
I finished chapter 10 and gave a friend a call. Got the machine. Left a message, as you do.
Put the book down, sat back, took a sip, and tried to figure out if I wanted to keep reading.
An ambulance passed with siren blazing. That happens most nights around here. Alot of eldery folks.
I'm back at home now. Although it doesn't really feel like home as much as Starbucks does...
Its a sick world.
SEEYa