Chapter 11

Before he went upstairs to his office overlooking Elliott bay, he stopped in the Starbucks on the ground floor of his building.

The same pony-tailed, middle-aged, raspy-voiced barista, who seemed not to exist outside of Starbucks, greeted him as she did every morning.

“Hey buddy! How’s it goin’?” She was always way too cheerful for the hour, and Ollie suspected her of injecting coffee straight into her veins when she arrived for her shift. Still, it was nice to see a familiar face, even if the woman could not remember Ollie’s name, although he had mentioned it a couple times, or what he ordered, which had been the same every day for the past couple of years.

“What can I get you?”

Ollie smiled and did not betray his desire to, just once, have her simply ask, “The usual?” and get it. “I’ll have a grande, nonfat, extra-hot, extra-foamy latte with one raw sugar.”

“You got it, handsome. You want some breakfast with that?”