Starbucks Days

Eat Raisin Bran, groggy.
Hope car starts.
Say hello to the same customer as yesterday, and wonder if you already saw them this morning.
Grind, brew, repeat.
Grind, brew, repeat.
Fake a smile to a mean guy.
Fake happy attitude to rude rich woman who smells wonderful, and has glorious hair volume, and when she goes anywhere, men line up to buy her a salad. Buy her a sugar-free anything. Buy her a piece of celery coated with self-loathing, and watch these business people flood the lobby with business meetings and hear them suck up all the internet until it moves like a whale from the router to the patio.
Open pastry case, smell the Maple scones, and know that autumn will come back for you, in approximately 86 days.
Grande iced hazlenut americano. Receive wink, feel heart flood with patriotism and another rogue emotion that you should probably guillotine with the bagel cutter next to the oven.
Get your heart back to business.
Eat a bucket of Spaghettios.
Worry that your boss knows all your sins. Worry about that thing of getting fired.
Recall 2am nightmare and decide to stay awake forever. Realize your liability for the television medicine you've been living on.
"I'm going to marry your brother," Emily says, the way she said yesterday, and the day before, but with different hairstyles, and varying quietude in her voice.
And you compose a letter to your brother.

Dear Philip,
I realize with gravity, the way we are never supposed to express familial fondness, and although this has been charged of us in austerity, I secede.
I miss you knowing my jokes. I miss the way you would work the 7am to 3:30pm shift, and the way this enabled me to sleep in and work the evening shifts, and never feel the desperate eyes of the automobile salesmen.
I miss your computer being around, and my music that you took with you on your computer.
Our coworkers miss you because they'd like to get rid of me back to night shift, as I am quite louder than you are and sing more songs than you do.

Mostly I miss the thing about the jokes.

Love, or just even just like,

Rachel