According to a piece in SFGate we are a nation of Starbucks addicts… caffeinated tadpoles swimming upstream for little purpose but to fin from one java fix to the next. Hmm.

The possibility that I am homo starbucticus crosses my mind at 9:10 one recent morning as I join a line that stretches outside a small Starbucks shop at the base of California Street in San Francisco’s Financial District. The shop, 10 feet wide and barely 7 feet deep, can contain only a few customers at a time; the rest — about a dozen — brave the morning chill in the shadows cast by high-rise towers.

Petty jabs at the Mermaid aside [no, there’s not a conspiracy to jack up the caffeine level of your cup of joe, really!] I’m not sure I buy it… Surely there’s something more than a simple daily jolt that perks up even the most craven caffeine junkies’ day. Right? Um… Right?

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