The Homeless At Starbucks — Ghosts of My Christmas Future?

I look at the homeless in Starbucks and feel uncomfortable. Their clothes are ragged. My clothes are ragged. They occupy tables for hours, buying cheap refills. I occupy tables for hours, buying cheap refills. The staff tell us both, “I’m going to have to cut you off.” With me, the staff continue, “Just kidding, man.” They carry two tote bags, I carry one. They spread out their food, I munch on protein bars. They stare at pretty girls. I try to control myself. The homeless order the smallest drinks, I order treinta.