Mercutio never gets to the counter. While standing in line, he begins loudly waxing poetic about dreams and his many qualms with Starbucks and coffee in general. He is forcibly removed by several baristas after provoking a quarrel with the one behind the register. “A plague on all your Starbucks chains!” he shouts as he stumbles off into the afternoon light. The day is almost 3/5 of the way over.
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