Burly Man Meets Cyber Monday

He was a man's man: built like a fire plug, thick in bicep and calf, chiseled jaw, razor sharp gaze. But he carried himself lightly, like a welter-weight boxer. The morning was crisp on this last Monday before December, Cyber Monday, and it was time to think about shopping, -- online -- powered by caffeine. He had worked hard serving the public and had money to burn. His belt was heavy with the tools of his trade: Tazer, pistol, flashlight, radio, hand cuffs, I-Phone 8. His face was young and smooth and easy with a smile; he was the new man, a man who oozed security, calm, digital prowess: he was a consumer. The barista stood on tip-toe, poised, waiting to take his order, her face turned up to the shining brilliance of him standing there in the morning sun. She had to shield her eyes or move into the shadow he cast. What was it going to be? A bullet-proof?  A triple shot black-eye? A dark-roast Americano? Surely something powerful to carry him through this long day of spending. The cafe got very quiet in the pause before he spoke. He let the moment gain weight, the gravity crushing every sound other than the soft music pumping through the speakers, an indie song of longing, for something new, in a box, with an Amazon swoosh. He drew in a breath as the rest of the cafe breathed with him in a collective gasp. He extended his phone to zap the register and make his purchase, the first of many, the one that would fuel the day. The words came slow and deep: "Pumpkin-spice skinny latte, please."