I hate coffee. I hate over expensive things. Yet here I am sat in a Starbucks drinking a grande something-nonsensical. Why? My larger than life friend Luke has another addiction. The beautiful barista, or ‘coffee girl’ as I call her, has him bewitched. True the black and green uniform does show off her curves and hips in a light no hot blooded man could tame, but it’s not worth the price of the cup I sip. Every time we order, he mumbles and waits to receive her smile and say, ‘have nice day,’ like it’s just for to him. He can’t ask her out, too shy, so I do it for him when I need a napkin. I say to her ‘my friend wants to know when you get off work, so you can be honest with him about whether you like him or not.’ She explains she had a boyfriend and doesn’t want to hurt his feelings or lose a customer. Casually I turn around, point my thumb over my shoulder and shout, ‘LUKE! She’s got a boyfriend! Don’t bother asking!’ He went plum red and the rest of the morning we were silent. We don’t get coffee anymore.