[h1][center][color=00aeef]Jack Hawthorn[/color][/center][/h1]

As Jack drove around he couldn't find a single place open. Except, of course, Starbucks. He hated Starbucks. It was all frilly drinks and sugary coffee drink, no good all fashion black coffees. They probably would have exactly what he wanted there, but he couldn't go in. He was a man of standards. A man of dignity and statue. He was a- what was he doing? His body was betraying him at the lovely smell of coffee. His hand moved to open the door as if on it's own motive. Glaring at the hand he hissed at it, [color=00aeef]"I thought you were on my side."[/color]

His body continued to move, walking across the street and opening the door. It was crowded inside, mostly younger kids. But the smell was amazing. Starbucks had done one thing right, perfecting that good old coffee shop smell. Walking up to the counter he looked at the cashier and asked, [color=00aeef]"Can I get a coffee, black?"[/color] Grabbing the coffee Jack headed to a seat in the corner. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes in bliss as he sipped the delicious drink. He had given in, but it was certainly for a good cause. His sanity.