Pitter patter, the rain dripped off the e dge of his umbrella walking down the street, the clouds scattered greyish-blue light across the puddles growing in the seams of the way. him. Turning a corner, he walked into a McDonald's, soulless corporate grey complementing the relative vibrance outside. I closed my umbrella and went to the counter, beeps and chimes chirping their way out the passage into the kitchen.
it thinks its real
"How can I help you?" the clerk said.
"Oh, just an iced caramel macchiato, please," he said.
"Would you like anything to go with that?" the clerk responded.
"No thanks," he said again.
"That will be $4
.99," the clerk said before the man paid, a paper being dispensed to him.
Now he waited, soon after being handed his drink, condensation already forming at the edges.
He took a sip, savored it—maybe he liked it? But then he walked out.
The rain had stopped.
"How can I help you?" the clerk said.
"Maybe a caramel macchiato... iced," we said.
"Would you like anything to go with that?" the clerk responded.
We thought for a moment. "Well, or, er—no, actually, just that."
"That will be $4.99," the clerk said before the both of us paid. The receipt hummed out of the register for us.
We took a sip, enjoying it—even if it tasted off—as we walked out.
The rain had stopped.
"How can I help you?" the clerk said.
"...One iced caramel macchiato," I said.
The clerk tapped her computer.
"Would you like anything to go with that?" the clerk said.
I considered, but said, "Just that."
"That will be $4.99," she said, while I reached for some small bills in my wallet.
Counting out five, I handed her the cash. A few sh
ort minutes later, I was called to the
front to
grab m
y
dr
in
k.
I sipped it, tasting the smooth bitterness of the coffee, hazel on the back of my tongue and ice melting on the tip.
It tasted wrong. I walked out.
Th e rain had stopped.
Maybe I drank it too fast—the cold possibly having grabbed my soft palate—or maybe it was just a headache.
Either way,
my head stung .