In March of 2004, I made a week-long trip to Arizona, for a good friend’s wedding. When I left Atlanta, temperatures had been in the high 60’s and it had been raining for days. I flew into Phoenix, where it was bright, sunny and the daytime temperatures hovered in the low-90’s. At night, it never got below 70. Following the wedding, another friend and I drove to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, where the skies were clear and daytime temperatures were in the 40’s and 50’s. At night, it dipped to near-freezing levels. Following a few more days in 90-plus degree weather in Phoenix, I returned to Atlanta. My return flight had a connection in Detroit, Michigan. The plane landed, only to be greeted by falling snow and temperatures in the low 30’s. The plane had to be de-iced before it could take off again. A few hours later, I landed in Atlanta, where it was 70 and pouring rain.
It was a slow afternoon at the tiny Seattle coffee shop. As I opened the door, a group of three school-aged boys ran in front of me. Each of the boys was lugging an overloaded backpack with them. They obviously had just left the private school a couple of blocks down the street. As I perused the menu, the three boys placed their orders, all the while joking with one another. The first two each requested a pastry and a glass of water. The third boy studied the menu a bit longer before deciding. “Umm. . . I’d like a tall espresso, double shot, please.” The cashier giggled a bit, thinking that her young customer was just repeating something he had heard adults order. After a few seconds, she jokingly said to him, “Alright. . . whatever.” Noticing that the boy seemed serious, she looked puzzled. Then, sh...
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