a typical M-F morning

I admit it. I've been getting my daily espresso fix at McDonalds. Honestly, it's the stupidest thing to do - Italy is known for their coffee and the cockiness surrounding it - they take it seriously and it's delicious. Especially when they get that creamy foam on top. 

But I avoid it the artiginale bars. Why? Sometimes I just hate interacting with the barista. I used to get my coffee from this this place near my work called "Macadamia Cafe." The coffee is good and I love how the Chilean barista always goes the extra mile by dousing the bottom of my cup with cacao powder. 

"Ciao! One coffee please. Actually, a double."

A few clicks and slams later, the burner is buzzing and my coffee is done. 

She sighs. "Everything in it's place?"

"Si."

"That's good..."

I reciprocate - she's supposedly doing well, too.

"Obama and Clinton...how is it going?"

Damn...I really don't know. I did skim over Reuters last night that Clinton should pretty much pull out of the race. So that means Obama is ahead, right? Shit. I really don't know. But, oh man, if I don't know I'll look really dumb. It's my country. I should know. 

"Clinton is doing not good. She is...little bit mean. I am happy that Obama is winning." (translated directly into English from my intermediate level Italian)

"Will you vote?"

I told her the past two times that I would. Has she forgotten already? I MUST be the only Korean guy that works for the commercial photographer around the corner. 

"Yes. I must. It's a responsibility and I must do something about it. That way, if it doesn't go my way I will be justified to complain a bit. Haha."

"I like Obama."

I nod. I couldn't even take a legit sip because we had talked too much. I have a full cups worth of coffee to go and that probably equals another 2-3 minutes of conversation. I ask her the question I ask her everyday. 

"Do you still miss Chile?"

"Yes...but I'm used to Milano now."

I didn't even have to listen. I knew the answer. 

"Do you miss California?"

"Of course. I want to go back, but I know I'll miss Italy for sure. Milano has MUCH more character." (a bit of zest never hurts a dying conversation)

I'm at the bottom of the cup and I scoop up the dollop of sugar and cacao powder into my mouth. Best part of my awkward mornings. 

I couldn't take it anymore so I started going to McDonalds. They throw me a paper cup full of sour coffee, but I get my privacy. It's impersonal and its nice. I read the sports section of my Metro paper and have a brioche or two all for just under 2 Euros.

Irene (pronounced ee-reh-neh, is her name) stands at the window, so I avoid walking by Macadamia cafe by taking the back route. I have betrayed her kindness, but I can't stand talking about Obama and Clinton. I hate asking her how she's doing because she always responds with a sigh, and when she says she's doing well and loves Milano, I know for a fact that she just doing OK and wants to move back to Chile. 

But I feel responsible. 

Today I went in again, and she smiled the kind of smile that says "So you're back, where the hell have you been, my friend?" I have the copy of the Metro paper tucked under my arm - it declares InterMilan's victory over Lazio. 

"Are you an Interista or Milanista?" I ask.

"Interista. You?"

"Milanista."

At least we have something to fight about now.