Starbuck's

Why am I here?

I am not talking about Earth or existence. I am talking about a similar place… Starbuck’s. I was driving home from work when I received a message from my wife. She had a friend who was dropping by to talk. All of which meant that I had suddenly had an hour and a half to play. What to do? Starbuck’s. Why? I don’t know. Because that’s where writers are supposed to go.

I go home first to change out of my work clothes. What should I wear…decisions, decisions. Not a tie, easy decision. Jeans or Adidas pants? Jeans, ‘cause they would fit in more. What? Fit in more? Did that thought really just pass through my mind? Now I’m embarrassed.

I was joking with a friend the other day about meeting him at Starbuck’s, except, one without the Star. That would make it…Buck’s. I picture the whole coffee shop image vanishing and an older cowboy in a button down flannel shirt (chest hair showing) and jeans on, sipping on some specialty drink made of hot chocolate and Jack Daniels. His pop-belly is more than noticeable and he serves breakfast all day. Buck’s.

Sitting at Starbuck’s, I wonder whether I would have wanted to type here if it was Buck’s. Hmm..nope. Ouch. That’s convicting. I am here because of an image. I paid 4 bucks for a coffee to sit and make myself feel like a deep thinker who has a lot to say to the world through my erudite, intellectual, and cultured words. Maybe I would be better off with Buck, sitting at his table, actually being myself, and eating his grits and bacon…especially if he’s a good editor.