Yeah, I’d love to tell you I only support small local coffee shops that recycle and make their brews with organically grown beans grown by poor native peoples…but that would be a lie.  I frequent the Starbucks.  In fact, I wrote my whole novel at Starbucks (buy my book, High Before Homeroom, Simon & Schuster, 2009).  I wrote it at a Starbucks in Kentucky, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, New York City, and Arkansas (thank god they finally got one!)

Starbucks is reassuring.  It is always the same no matter where you go.  Starbucks is the same in Oklahoma as it is in Dublin, you just use a different currency.  There is something I love about that stability, especially since I often feel my life is out of control.

Here’s some Starbucks secret lingo:  Starbucks wants their clients to consider it their third place.  There’s home, work, and Starbucks.  Throw “third place” at an Barista sometime and see their reaction.

My favorite Starbucks IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE is a block away from Melrose Place On Crack, right smack in the center of the Hollyhood.  I go there at least once a day, usually two or three times.  I know all the employees.  I know their drama.  I knew when one of them got fired,and why, and how everyone felt about it.  I am on best behavior when the district manager comes in to visit. I got the call from my agent that my book would published while  in my Starbucks.  Of course, I screamed. Everyone was so excited.  One of my favorite Baristas walked from behind the bar and hugged me.  Another Barista, an aspiring musician, said it inspired him to keep going.

Truth be told:  I’m in the Starbucks right now.

All my Starbucks friends know about this website and my book.  And many of them are aspiring.  This is Hollywood, after all.

So I want you to meet them.

I ain’t gonna lie.  I love kids.  I love them because they make me laugh…I love how they approach the world, all that cheesy bullshit about a fresh perspective and everything is new and exciting, etc, etc… here’s the thing…if I’m having a horrible day, full of bills I can’t pay and a fresh zit on my chin and a nationwide recession…well, seeing a kid having fun will make me forget all about it for a little while.

Anyway, here is your Adorable Child of The Day:

Some crazy shit goes down in the dumpster behind  our parking lot.  Here are some abandoned crackpipes:

Today I met this kid digging in our dumpster.  He was amazingly quick and dexterous.  He let me interview him as he worked.  A couple of timew I gasped thinking he might fall, but part of me knew he wouldn’t.  This kid is scrappy.  He knew exactly what he was doing

I think he’s cute, too.  If I was sixteen, I would totally have the hots for him ’cause he is completely inappropriate for a relationship and it would piss my parents off…at sixteen, those were my two things I looked for in possible boyfriends. (whatever happened to D—–who worked at the gas station?)

ME: So how long you been doing this for?

KID: Bout two weeks ‘cause I got kicked outta foster care and I had nowhere to go, so I started selling dope ‘cause I had no money and got caught with it..I went to jail, now I’m‘bout to go to rehab, gonna be a patient soon…just out here trying to make some money.

ME: How old are you?

KID: 20.

ME: how much you make a day doing this?

KID: I usually make about fifteen dollars in a couple of hours…when I sold dope, make four, five, six hundred dollars a day…sometimes 700 depending…like around when everyone got paid…I was in foster care since I was five.  My mama and daddy was drug addicts, like, my dad right now is doing rehab, my mom passed away…he was on heroin.  (there is a horrible smell) I just had to empty piss from a bottle.

ME: I smelled it…I was just glad you weren’t just pissing.

KID:  Oh, no, no,no,no,no….I just emptied it…I got these gloves and stuff.

ME: Well, at least someone pissed in a bottle and not on the street, that’s good manners I guess…I’m worried you’re gonna fall, but I know you know what you’re doing…hey, look at this fork.  We got the craziest shit in our parking lot.

Then the kid left…but I’ll look out for him to do a follow-up.

Just curious, but is a bent fork some sort of drug paraphernalia?  Tell me if you know.

1997, I think.  Sent to me the year I dropped out of college (I went back eventually).  The stomach in the picture is, of course, Emily’s.