Pleasure and pain. Two sensations that are sometimes hard to differentiate between. Such is the experience of going to Starbucks. Especially in Manhattan – serpentine lines snaking up to the counter, staff aggressively working ahead, forcing their customers to yell their order and their name across the store. Bottlenecks of customer flow, as we queue up waiting for our orders to be spat out the other end.

Sometimes when I am asked to call out my name, I say my name is Fabrizio.

It makes me want to order something fancier than a drip coffee.

“Vente ice drip for Fabrizio”