The last time I visited my hometown it had a pretty good independent coffee shop (generally staffed by members of the beloved Hoyt family). It has since been driven out by Starbucks. Heavy sigh.
Still, I need coffee, and when Iām home I can almost imagine the corporate monstrosity to be local. Or at least, I do remember going there when Starbucks was exactly one shop, in the Pike Place Market.
I coaxed my mother and son inside for pastries, only to be sucked into a social miasma. Encountering three childhood enemies before 10 am? Amusing, though not especially illuminating. We all turned out as you might have predicted.
A girl I loathed for good reason when we were fourteen years old eavesdropped throughout a conversation with my mother, in which we discussed the advantages of the various (realistic) places I might move next.
It was very odd to feel this semi-stranger glare as I rambled on about schools in Berlin, housing prices in London, the benefits offered by assorted other cities.
My mother voted for a return to Seattle, or at least a sojourn in San Francisco.