The thing, the sticking point, if you will, is that Sean might never have met Tom if Tom’s regular coffee place hadn’t been too busy,
hadn’t had a line almost out the door on the first day of pumpkin spice lattes—the real harbinger of fall.
Sean doesn’t approve of flavored coffees, and Aunt Cece isn’t that into them either, so they’ve just got regular,
and occasionally some asshole comes in and asks for an espresso drink of some kind or other, and Sean has the pleasure of explaining that this is not, in fact, a Starbucks, but a bakery,
and also, does Sean look like a barista? Some assholes have the gall to say yes to that.
Tom’s usual place is actually a nice little independent coffee shop down the road,
the one Sean used to go to when he was a kid and thought he needed some place serious and away from his parents to refine his lyrics.
He still goes over there sometimes, after work although not usually before, because apparently making bread requires waking up at the asscrack of dawn. Who knew?
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