At the farmers’ market I stopped at the coffee truck. From the order window, a twenty-something man with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes gazed down at me.
“Medium decaf mocha, with no whip,” I said.
He nodded. “Medium non-fat mocha, no whip.”
“Decaf. Decaf mocha,” I said.
He nodded again, looking sage. “Medium non-fat decaf mocha, no whip. All the words in the alphabet.”