Bombed baristas

I was hanging out with Turtle last night, enjoying some libations and watching music videos, when I ran into one of the fellows that works at my neighborhood Starbucks. This slip of a man - I would approximate that he weighs 90 pounds soaking wet - was trashed. He screeched my name and tried to hug me, but in so doing, he spilled my drink and got a little damp. Then he furrowed his brow and stormed off.

Later, an ex-bf of one of Blanca's former flings - and some sort of manager for Starbucks - also arrived wasted. He was barely making sense and searching high and low for a potential conquest. In particular, he kept wondering where Dyson was.

When the two coffee comrades met, it was sort of a trainwreck. They were talking shop, trying to stand upright, bumping into people left and right, making faces that alternated between elated and angry. It was a good opportunity for me to quietly slide away.