By Samantha Sapp
I saw all of him through the air-tight window of his car. He was sitting hunch-backed as he suckled the plastic, protruding tit of his Starbucks drink. A frappuccino, by the look of it—something cold and sickly sweet enough to burn the memory of life away.
He was alone.
The light changed. He accelerated, his engine purring beneath him. I looked at the shopping bags in my passenger seat, wondering how long it had been since someone sat there. A stranger behind me honked.
I turned into Starbucks.
Samantha Sapp is a writer and former middle school teacher. Though she is originally from the Florida Panhandle, she now lives in the snowy Midwest. You can find on her on Bluesky or lost in the woods.
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