Urban Legend

The girl behind the counter gave me her best welcome-to-Starbucks-may-I –take-your-order-God-this-is too-early-I wish-I-was-home-in-bed-still-asleep smile. She sporting what I think is the prerequisite for hiring as a barista: the “body piercing”, a small gold ring in her right eyebrow. “Let’s see the grandkids get a hold of that someday.” I smiled back, “Grande half-caff, room, please. My smile was more a quick spasm or jerk of the face muscles, something boring between a nervous twitch and an involuntary seizure.

The coffee came. I gave her my card. The sound that came out of her made me wish that she was at home-in-bed-still-asleep. “Oh, I’ve never seen this one before. When did we get this one? She chirped. “It’s the 9/11 card. The Walt Whitman card--Nations”, I said. She continued to look at the card. “It looks like it has a poem on it”. “Yes”, I said, “Nations.”

The next week, same barista. “Cool card” she said. “I read the poem.” “Cool”, I thought. “It’s a quote, but a good start. One barista down”.

"Here is not merely a NATION, but a teeming nation of NATIONS."