Happy Thursday, everyone!
Middle of October already. Boy, how did it get to be so late in the year? I don’t know about you, but it gets harder and harder for me to get up in the morning when it’s still dark outside. I’d rather stay in bed, snuggly comfy under the covers. Nope, I’m not a morning person at all, and I’m not alone judging by the long line at the Starbucks drive-thru. The baristas are certainly busy this time of year.
This week’s free fiction Thursday story features a Starbucks barista who encounters a whole different kind of customer — a guy who looks like he rode straight out of one of the old Clint Eastwood spaghetti Westerns. I hope you enjoy “For A Few Lattes More.”
For a Few Lattes More
Published by Thunder Valley Press
Copyright 2011 Annie Reed
The cowboy parked his horse in the handicap spot in front of Starbucks.
Terri almost dropped the Halloween coffee mug she’d just tagged with a second red clearance sticker. Ten minutes to closing. Of course. The strangest people always came in right before closing.
“You see that?” she asked Leon, who was sweeping the floor on the other side of the clearance display.
Leon craned his neck around a shelf full of travel mugs decorated with glow in the dark ghosts and goblins to look out the plate glass storefront. “Huh,” he said. “That’s a new one.”
Terri watched as the cowboy in the battered hat and leather duster got off his horse and wrapped the reins around the freebie community newspaper stand in front of the handicap spot. The cowboy was tall and thin and wore his hat low over his face. Thanks to the overhead lights in the strip mall parking lot, he was little more than a silhouette and totally out of place. Who in his right mind rode a horse in the middle of town?
“He’s really going to leave his horse right there,” Terri said.
“I’m not cleaning up after it,” Leon said. “No way. Cleaning the bathrooms is bad enough.”
He had a point. Picking up horse poo wasn’t in either of their job descriptions.
Terri and Leon saw a lot in the way of weird walk through the doors of this particular Starbucks. Three blocks from the casinos, liquor stores, tattoo parlors and pawn shops of downtown Reno and a block away from the biggest dorm on the University of Nevada campus, it wasn’t all that unusual to see frat pledges in penguin suits chilling in line next to black leather wearing bikers. Terri got propositioned by the frat boys on a weekly basis. The bikers went straight to offering Terri a free peek at tattoos on body parts she didn’t want to think about, much less see. And that was on a slow night. Throw in a holiday, like Halloween or New Year’s Eve or the anniversary of Elvis’s death, and anything at all might walk through the door.
Like a cowboy straight out of one of the spaghetti westerns her dad used to watch when Terri was a kid.
“Just wait,” Leon said. “He’ll want a latte.”
(read the rest of the story here)