Burying the Hatchet With Day Laborers

How I Learned to Love the Men Outside My Starbucks

A couple times a week, I, like 5 million people worldwide, head to my local corporate coffee joint. I love the Starbucks on the corner of Wilshire and Union near downtown L.A. The baristas all know me by name, the cashier has long since memorized my order, and they all take turns adorning my grande latte cup with smiley faces, stars, and hearts. Plus no one there has ever misspelled my name–unlike the barista on Fairfax who called me “Tulsa.” I attach relevant exhibits.

How author likes her cup:

How author does …