Insight Through Inquiry.

Sorry low muse

+ ANNE V. MAXIMILIANA

Few reasons could explain why Mason found himself at the Fremont neighborhood at 10pm. The Space Needle was nearby, but incredibly kitschy; tourist attractions had never really resonated with the detective. There was always the Statue of Lenin, or the Museum of Pop Culture, or on the opposite end of the spectrum, a crime in progress with him on the case. But all was well.

He was across a boba tea shop after all.

When was the last time he had boba tea? A couple months? A year? Ever since his favorite establishment had closed down for a health code violation, Mason Oliver Hollis had been deprived of the one drink that provided him as much joy, nay, more, than a piping hot mug of aromatic coffee. Needless to say, he hadn't taken it well. And who wouldn't have? With that delectable chew and that addictively sweet taste, boba tea was to the rather unkempt man what heroin was to an addict. And when word got out in the station of a Sharetea opening up in the otherwise sleepy Fremont Neighborhood, the Stockton native knew he had to try it.

But alas, as fate would have it, a throng of people had thought the same thing.

No sooner had he emerged from his beaten up Toyota Camry had the man encountered a line that snaked outside the small, aesthetically pleasing storefront where numerous satisfied pedestrians sipped on tea and snacked on delectable popcorn chicken. Initially it posed no problem to the tall, sweaty individual; surely the line would be over with in but the span of a few minutes. But after half an hour of waiting, irritation was evident on his brow, and every little obstacle between him and his tea was a slight.

"That woman is taking way too long to order. Christ almighty, why did those teenagers cut in line? What's taking those employees so god damn long? What do you MEAN the popcorn chicken is sold out?"

To say that he was irate was an understatement. And to say that his muttering was not unnoticeable by the others around him was also an understatement. There was a Snickers commercial that once proclaimed that "You're not you when you're hungry". Mason was most certainly not anywhere close to his usual demeanor while waiting for his order. Boba Tea was his ambrosia. He wasn't going to go back empty-handed.

"What would you like to order?"

"3 Earl Grey Milk Teas, and Fried Tofu. I want enough chili powder to kill an elephant. Now make it snappy, REAL snappy."

3 Earl Grey Milk Teas and a Fried Tofu later, and everything was all right in the world. There was a hop to Mason's step that was definitively absent when he had first arrived, and his angular face was contorted in a manner that evoked sheer bliss. He couldn't care less about those bratty teenagers that had cut before him. He couldn't care less about the fact that the line took thirty god damn minutes. He couldn't care less about the fact that the woman that had taken so long to order an item looked very similar to a certain individual he knew (from where?) and was now sitting with her laptop at a counter, engrossed in her work. Wait, could that be?

"Anne?"