Oh, green aprons. American pharmacists cheerfully passing out elixirs for every flavor of ailment. I’d like a tall homesick latte. For the price of one tall beverage, a family could buy 12 pineapples. (what they would do with a dozen pineapples, I don’t know. Actually, I have a few ideas. . . I’m thinking caramelized over ice cream)
Right next to the coffee shop is a pharmacy that passes out prescription(less) drugs like cappuccinos- except a lot cheaper. We laugh at the amoxicillin, valium and Deet 95 alongside peppermints and purell- but are blind to what we sell over our counters.
What do we seek relief from? What ails us, America?
It must be intense.
Because it drives us through tropical storms and suicidal street traffic to this corner. This hopeful coffee corner.
We are the junkies. We shell out for hit after hit, unaware that the whipped cream on top of this afternoon’s jolt could pay for a mother’s child to put down his selling-flowers and play somewhere far from the glow of red lights. For tonight.
And across the street there is a different bar, selling different drinks. And different pharmacists offer different elixirs. They wear different uniforms- they are far from green. And far from aprons.
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