“Well, at least I don’t smoke,” he says – his hands shaking as he unfolds the morning paper. Feeling smug he grabs his quadruple Starbuck’s carmel macchiato latte and gulps down a foamy slurp. “Losers,” he mumbles and looks around for something to eat that contains at least 3000 calories, all of them from processed sugar. In front of him lies the crumb covered front page of the San Francisco Chronicle. FAT IS THE NEW BLACK IN 2008 reads the headline. “Like kissin a freakin ashtray,” he says as he ponders which AA meeting he’ll dine at tonight. “Dry Dock always has the best cookie selection,” he muses.
Outside the sidewalk is full of people on their way to work, everyone of them enclosed in their own iPod earbud world. A man lays prone on the ground, a used Starbuck’s cup in his raised hand. “Help me out with some change?” he repeatedly chants.
A well dressed woman stops and looks down at the man, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. “How do I know you won’t just use it to buy drugs?” she asks.
“Well, at least I don’t smoke bitch!” is his answer.
She drops a dollar in his cup and walks away.