4 Shots

Late winter morning in the Loop, which is like hell if you feel like 2 pints of blood was just drained out of you. Actually, you've been feeling way this for a long time. It also comes with a very bad headache and a very bad backache.

You have a temp job, which merciful is easy and part time. You stop at the Starbucks on Washington, which is probably the worse one for waiting for your drink to be made. Having been in the restaurant business for a long time, I know how to get my short cafe mocha with 4 shots within minutes. I'm a regular, this is my usual order, I tip exceptional well, and I go and stand at the counter where the drinks are being made. It is such a simple order, no whipped cream, that I smile pretty to the young man making the drinks, I get mine in five minutes or less. Which is some kinda miracle.

Outside it is early March on Washington, across from the Courthouse, and my destination is really short, 2 blocks, but I can't seem to move. I drink down the coffee, and throw the cup away.  Grey slush is in unbelievable piles everywhere.

For the average person, 4 shots would make them manic, for me, it merely wakes me up to the degree I can get to my part time filing and clerking job on Clark. Then remove my coat. All of a sudden, besides all the pain I'm in, my mood turns nasty and bitchy, but I'm not mad at anyone. So I keep a low profile of swearing to myself which is really ugly. I hardly had any sleep the night before. The 4 shots quickly wear off, and leaning over the open filing cabinet, I nearly faint. That disgusted mood strikes again, and I can't believe my luck of getting a part time job so I get out at 1:00pm in the afternoon.

My day is finally done. I have an empty stomach, which is stupid, I know. I walk down Madison and pass the bookstore. I look at myself in the glass. Can anyone be more in agony over nothing? Somehow, I managed to buy a small bottle of Excedrin the day before for $6.00, and it is almost gone.

Down in the underground, the Blue Line, I feel a chill, a horrible, almost suicidal mood come over me. I suffer a lot all the time, but even this is more sickening than the normal bad mood. It even passes PMS. I know something is wrong. Why the hell do I not go to a doctor for it?

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Tags: Chicago Loop, Starbucks

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