"Not just good," I corrected. "This is Starbucks. Their coffee is magical."
"It sure as hell can make five bucks disappear. Seven bucks if you get all that foo-foo crap."
"Foo-foo crap?"
"You know, whipped cream and syrup and something called java chips."
"Oh, the yummy foo-foo crap."
He grinned and sat opposite me. He was a small man and slender. His bald head was oddly appealing to me. It was perfectly proportioned. No deep ridges or odd grooves. The skin was lightly tan and even. I thought I might just be looking at the world's most perfect bald head. I wanted to touch it. Bad.
He pointed to my hat.
"So do you always wear such a big hat?" he asked.
I generally deflect personal questions, especially any questions that relate to my...condition.
I said, "It helps with my phone reception."
He looked at me blankly for a second or two, then broke into a smile. "Ah, it looks like a satellite dish, I get it. Funny."
I asked if he wanted some magical coffee and he declined, claiming it was too late in the day to drink coffee. I used that as my excuse, too, although it was only a half-truth. Six years ago, it would have been too late in the day for coffee, but now coffee only made me sick.
"So tell me about your wife," I said. "It's why you're here, isn't it?"
He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed. His pupils shrank.
"Yes, but how did you know about my wife?" he asked.