a moment from my senioritis day

it's around 10, and i've resigned to getting out of my body-heated covers after 40 minutes—i'm not exaggerating, i counted 40—of trying to make myself do so, i've forced my fleece-pajama-clad legs into my comfy jeans, i've squeezed 3 sweaters and a tee-shirt under my do-nothing-except-look-good jacket, and i've made it outside to a charming 14 degrees. i curse that letting-the-wind-through-but-keeping-your-hourglass-shape jacket, waddling the 3.5 blocks to my local starbucks. it's chocolate brown and burgundy inside, and i'm happy to be out of the gray. i'm beginning to defrost and inhaling that coffee bean smell that makes your nostrils flare, when 4 familiar notes interrupt my debate between "refresh" and "earl gray" teas. my "barista" cooing "games, changes and fears /when will they go from here / when will they stop," waving his hands with the melody to the first lines of macy gray's "i try." next on line, i am intrigued by sounds from the woman behind me. looking back, she's mouthing the next lines with her eyes closed and head bobbing. behind her, the power-tied man is miming scratching his nose, yet through his fingers... i say "earl gray," without thinking, as my barista, the line, and now the thin, 30 something sugar-pourer, is singing along. i've got nothing else to do; i take my best shot at her chain-smoking rasp, which my father and i imitated while painting The—first—Living Room. in a mid-line break, i thank the guy for my coffee, and bounce my way towards the door, soaking in one last shot of the barista, the line, the sugar-pourer, the two in the corner, the guy on his laptop, and me, singing along with a song i had forgotten about.
tea gets chilly in 3.5 blocks.