Triple Shot

Alan's high end custom sneakers slap on the floor of Allegra's cafe, a hole in the wall with counter to one side and two high top tables with uncomfortable wooden stools to the other. The decor is dark, almost boho, it suits this-coffee-is-better clientele, who reject chain store sugar filled concoctions as a matter of course. 

He steps to the counter; Sandy the barista and saviour, maker of the best coffee in town, is there and ready to take his order, she already knows it. She raises her dark eyes to meet his. "The usual, coming up," she drawls. She affects deadpan cool, but gives him a slight smile. He is a regular, and is welcome. She talks to him as she sets to work on his morning pick-me-up.

"So, what's new?" She grinds the beans, and presses the grounds expertly flat.

"Not a lot, not a lot. Stocks are up, bonds are flat, pikers are losing, I'm winning." Alan chooses a flat dry tone, matching Sandy's tenor.

"Uh-huh, are we a bull or a bear today?" She works the machine. It hisses and whines in response.

"Bull. I play to win, every day Sandy, you know that."

"Slay." She hands him the coffee, a triple shot espresso, and rings it up. He swipes his watch past the terminal, and nods in thanks meeting her gaze. He mounts one of the tall wooden stools and grabs one of the newspapers the cafe stocks, for customers to look at. He opens the crisp paper straight to the finance pages; he knows the numbers, but wants to look the part. Playing to win is about looking the part, and Alan always looks the part. 

He sips the steaming brew, feels its heat in his mouth; bitterness coats his tongue, aromas of vanilla and cacao enriching the flavour. It is an animal, almost spiritual experience. His pupils dilate. He is awake.

*****

It is 1 PM, and it is hot — 98 degrees his watch tells him. Alan's shirt sticks to him, he is uncomfortable, he does not want to be outside in this, but he has had to come across town for a meeting and now on his way back he regrets his choice to walk. "Good for the heart" his ass, no matter what loser he just met with has to say, this is a waste of time. Exercise is for the gym. 

To his left, he sees a cafe; it looks air conditioned, well lit, comfortable. It is a chain, Flasks, adorned in blue, with a helpful logo. He is a little weary too, he could use a coffee. Allegra's is too far.

Alan walks in, it is spacious and cool, a steady 68 he reckons, with sofas and tables. The walls are pastel colours, everything is designed to look soft and inviting. This place is for the weak, but Alan will take the break from the heat outside, even just while he gets a takeaway. Something simple, they can manage filter one, even if their espresso is bound to be terrible.

People around him drink coffee and other drinks of all varieties. In front of him a woman collects something and turns, her choice now clearly visible to him. It is in a tall glass, a pale tan colour. His eyes drink in the condensation on the glass, and the smooth, shapely, whipped cream on top. He is bewitched. He is so warm, and the drink looks so cold.

He steps to the counter and hesitates, but can't resist.

"I'll have what she's having."

"One tall iced coffee with cinnamon, coming right up sir!" chirps the employee, a cookie-cutter teenage boy, kind of like how Alan had been at his age, well groomed and cropped in a cheerful blue apron and white shirt, "name please?"

"Al-ex," he lies. He is unsure of how to feel.

"Al-ex," says the boy, writing it on his docket, and handing it to another employee who will make the drink.

He sits, moments later, staring at the drink. The armchair he has chosen is the colour of sky, and has the vibe of a cloud. The table in front of him is low, he feels like he's in a living room, only a little louder and brighter. He reaches out. The glass is cold to touch, he shivers as he runs his finger down it. He gently holds it, lifts it, puts his lips to the rim, and drinks. It is paradise, mellow, gentle coffee flavour; sweet cream. It is delight, not complexity. He closes his eyes and relaxes, luxuriating. 

*****

The next day, 8 AM, Alan steps into Allegra's. It is on his way to work, Sandy greets him as usual. He feels a twinge of guilt, but why? It is only coffee, he tells himself. Nothing more. He dips his eyes, makes small talk. He sits at the high top table, sips his coffee and reads the paper. It is already hot outside, the sun is as bold as he is and the humidity is over 50%. 

His mind wanders, he sees the tall glass, the rich cream. He imagines the comfortable sofa, the aircon. His eyes snap open, Sandy is giving him a look, he knows he is acting weird. He downs the coffee and leaves. 

*****

2 PM, Alan is in a different Flasks. It is the same as the other one, the layout almost identical and the same even 68, the same pastel pallet, the same furnishings. He walks to the counter and is met by another possibly cloned employee in the blue apron uniform that all the staff here wear.

"Good afternoon sir, how can I help?"

"Iced coffee." He is brief and to the point, he doesn't engage. 

"Coming right up sir! Name please?"

"Alex."

"Al… ex. We'll have that with you soon sir!"

Minutes later Alan is sitting at the table, his body revelling in the refreshing air and the soft wide armchair. His eyes wander over the tall iced coffee, the whip, the colour, the frosty drips outside the glass. He knows he will drink it, he has already made the decision. It is so good, he thinks, but so bad. He can practically see the calories, the decadence. He leans in, picks it up, opens his mouth and once again, he drinks. His pleasure centres sparkle, fairy lights fueled by sugar and caffeine.

*****

It is morning again, and Alan is walking to work. Usually he crosses the road to get to Allegra's but today he pauses. It's right there, but today it looks just a little gloomy. Sandy is serving someone else, her hands dancing across the machine, making beautiful artisan coffee. 

Alan doesn't want it though. Allegra's may be the best, and Sandy the saviour of Arabica and Robusta, but no amount of talent can defeat air conditioning and a tall drink of ice, cold, sweetened, coffee. He looks down the street and sees a Flasks. He looks at his watch, but he can already feel the temperature. 85, heading up, the heatwave won't relent. He licks his lips, but he knows what he wants. Alan is not the kind of man to hesitate, he tells himself. He turns away from Allegra's and walks to Flasks.

***** 

At Flasks, the number of different drinks is dizzying. Alan visits again and again, as the mercury rises, so too does his adventurousness. First he adds just a drizzle of chocolate at the suggestion of one of the perky employees, but then he is drinking iced mochas with caramel. It is not long before the description of the things he is having don't even sound like coffee. He does not tell his friends or colleagues, they believe he still drinks only triple shot espressos. 

Day after day rolls by, it has been one, then two, then three weeks since he has been to Allegra's. He misses Sandy's dry wit, but with the sweaty, sticky, hazy times of a too long too hot summer, he finds he wants only cold drinks, temperate rooms, and comfy relaxing places to sit. Flasks is his guilty pleasure, a place to find repose before and after he pushes and pulls virtual dollar bills, inflating his and others wealth.

*****

Walking, Saturday, hot and humid, Alan walks with confidence. He is going to the waterfront to meet some friends, before they have some drinks and then who-knows-what happens. Suddenly, from the crowds of people, Sandy materialises, as if she has always been there. She is not in her dark work attire, instead dressed in black boardshorts and a blue and white horizontally striped tee. She sees him and double takes.

"Alan, been a while. You been stepping out on Allegra's?"

Alan doesn't know what to say, he almost panics. Who accuses you of cheating straight away without even doing smalltalk? Wait, he hasn't been cheating, coffee isn't cheating. He is still going to Flasks, usually twice a day. 

"Sandy! Whassup? I've been away, on biz you know."

"Oh, nice, nice. Where'd you go?"

"Oh around, had to go to head office, upstate. It's been cray-zee."

"I'm sure. I mean, it musta been if you had to go upstate."

"Well… I've gotta get somewhere…"

They edge past each other. She is heading downtown, and gives him an enigmatic look, he gives her fingerguns. And then they are apart. Alan looks at the ground a little shamefaced, but then picks himself up. Why should he feel bad for going to a different cafe? Liking a different drink? It's OK, it's not like anyone's been betrayed.

*****

Monday, 8AM, Alan is heading to Flasks. He wishes he had brought his jacket, it is a little chilly. On the ground he sees newly fallen leaves, reddish brown in hue. He looks at the tree, and sees the rest have turned as well. He looks at his watch, it is September 22nd.

He looks into Flasks, it feels a little desaturated, not so inviting. Inside he orders an iced coffee.

"Coming right up sir. Alex right?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He sits, with his drink. He adjusts his position, the armchair is a little lumpy, the low table with the drink on it just a little far away. He looks around, there are a lot of people in here. Some teens sip on brightly coloured drinks which he's certain are milkshakes. Why go to a cafe if you're just gonna drink a milkshake? Kids may as well go get a burger somewhere better. 

He picks up the glass without ceremony and takes a sip. It is a flat flavour. Sweet, yes, but without depth. There is nothing to it. He finds he wishes it were hot. He wishes it were strong. He wants the smoky aromas of vanilla and cacao, the potent bitterness on his tongue. He stands, the drink unfinished, disappointed. He looks outside, he sees Sandy through the window, running late for work he guesses. She glances at him and raises one eyebrow before walking on.

*****

The next day, Alan slinks into Allegra's, chagrin written in his every motion.

"Flasks huh?" she asks.

"Yeah, uh… it was cold, y'know. Just for summer."

"Mmmhmmm…" 

She is already preparing his usual, she didn't even bother to ask. He gives her an imploring look, wanting forgiveness for whatever unwritten rule he's broken. She smirks.

"So what's up today?"

They fall into their familiar rhythm as if they hadn't left it. Alan is relieved, and when he sits down with his faithful triple shot espresso and opens the paper to the Finance and Markets page, it is like coming home. He is home.