BUZZ

I intended on using the following blurb from my journal (summer 2015) in a story. However, it’s an aberration from advancing the storyline, so it must be omitted.  

...

I’m assaulted by the waft of fragrant coffee beans upon entering my usual Starbucks. I’m pondering management’s decision to keep the indoor temperature below 60 degrees when I notice the man ahead of me appears to be sleeping, erect. His gray hair hangs like icicles across the back of his blue North Face Fleece. His gargantuan feet protrude from thick flip flops, and yellowed toenails curl towards the ground like taxidermic talons. I wonder how he perceives the world through his thick, smudgy glasses? He schleps towards the barista when she nods for his approach.

” Good Morning, are we using your real name today?”

  “Ahhh, let me see. No. No. My coffee name today.”

He meanders to a slouching position against the back wall, hands in his pockets, head down. I order and step aside as the petite barista with short blue hair calls out,

“Buzz, Your Latte is ready.”

The aforementioned man stretches his elongated fingers around the cup reminding me of a sloth clinching a tree trunk. I’m not sure a triple shot will jolt him into a Buzz; more likely he’ll sputter like an old moped’s engine. I refrain from laughing at the irony in case imperceptible pain is the reason for his sluggishness.