“It’s just a cup of coffee.”

I say as shudders of cognitive dissonance wrack my existence. Covid happened, heard about something happening in Gaza, and my girlfriend left me, so I drowned my sorrows in caffeine. How much of every dollar that I give to this succubus goes towards manufacturing the tools of genocide? I dunno, but I don’t know what to believe anymore.

“It’s just a cup of coffee.” 

The Starbucks mermaid seems to be smiling, a slightly more vibrant green than the dollar I used to pay for her. 

Luckily, my interaction with the Starbucks clerk was nice and short. Just as much social interaction as I’m comfortable with. 

I made more eye contact with the eye atop the pyramid than with the cashier or the barista.

This is America, of course our money has a Latin inscription…“Novus ordo seclorum” means “a new order of the ages.” Somehow that’s one thing that makes sense in this f***ed up world. Buncha little Pharaohs running round in my wallet, the thought makes me chuckle a bit. A needed reprieve given my current emotional duress.

“It’s just a cup of coffee.” 

The screams of more than 15,000 children are ringing in my ears. My heart pounds… each beat loud as a 2,000 pound bunker buster…the effects of the caffeine, perhaps? My underlying anxieties as the doctors like to tell me? Of course it likely has nothing to do with me coming to terms with the brokenness of our society, my past complicit actions, and a desperate need to cling onto my current identity. I should probably grind harder, pull myself up by my bootstraps…

Toughen up, buttercup, and focus on what really matters. I hear they’re coming out with the pumpkin spice latte, or something like that I guess. Trust the government, I’m sure they’ve never been complicit in genocide and tried to cover it up. 

Screw your neighbor. 

Trust Starbucks. 

Trust the almighty buying power of the dollar.

In “God” we trust, right? 

After all, “it’s just a cup of coffee.”