Glycodin Mocha

Rain poured on my hopes of photographing the Dames Point Bridge today. The light was almost perfect with darkening clouds with spotty sunlight streaming through. I thought a wet suspension bridge lit by the evening sun with a background of dark clouds would be perfect. This time, the clouds decided to move in a little closer and rained stegosauruses and diplodocuses. If it rained enough to slow me down to 35 mph in a 65 mph zone, it must have rained a lot because I am usually the idiot driving at 65(ish!!!) mph in a 65 mph limit under torrential rain when everyone hide in the slower lanes (I call those ‘retard’ lanes).

I did manage to snag some pretty pictures on the way to the quite little coffee shop: link which was closed at 6pm on a Saturday! So, the owner decided to shut down a place (usually) meant for the younger generation who (usually) come out of their Friday induced hangover by noon (if not later) on Saturdays. 6 pm on a Saturday is like mid-morning. Next stop Starbucks, but who put the Moes next to it. I had to get a Quesadilla before quenching my Mocha-on-ice thirst. The special of the day in the mass-produced coffee shop was Raspberry Mocha frappuccino. Ordered that. $4.55. The person behind the counter handed the large cold drink that I accepted with high hopes and esteem. I pushed the dark green straw through the whipped cream and a foot of ice cubes before hitting the actual coffee. It did smell funny. The first sip confirmed my scent-based-hunch. It tasted like Glycodin and didn’t even cure my sore throat or get me high. I just ordered a relatively expensive coffee that tastes like common household cold syrup (that gets you high if an entire bottle is consumed. Mom and Dad, it is all hearsay!).

On the other hand, I was managed to occupy one of those comfy lounge seats in the coffee shop and probably even managed to look ice-cube-cool to the three Indians that walked in a few minutes later. In the next 30 minutes, I walked around in Target with a list in my hand and managed to look like a married (or maybe taken) desi man. Most married men end up with lists in their hands at the grocery store if they are not accompanied by the list-maker. The dudes walking every aisle with no list in their hand and no idea what they want are usually single (my girl-readers, here is your clue for the day).

Safely back home, the Hennessy is calling my name. The seductively tanned liquid requests to be let out so I can refresh myself on this rainy day. On the rocks or neat? Life is full of hard choices!