Let we share a story with a bit of preamble about a Starbucks in the Portland area. When I finished my last group-one investigation with the FBI and came to Portland for R&R, I had probably drank only six cups of coffee in my entire life. Additionally and not since my childhood while growing up on the Chesapeake Bay, could I remember seeing such bright and beautiful blue skies. Those sunny days lasted for a week, then it rained for a month and I was baptized by the green wet sponge in the Southern Kingdom of the Great Northwest. Borders Books [R.I.P.] with its bright lights and millions of inches of immortality lining their shelves, helped to combat the gray blahs and this particular Starbucks became the place where I met my now ex-wife. It was summer and those frozen caramel frappancino coffees were addictive, at least until I realized my monthly bill was averaging $267.00. Enter stage left, Mr. Coffee, the discovery of Folgers and the Cash & Carry stores for their insanely cheap prices on the largest selection of coffee syrups that I've ever seen. So for months I had been making small talk with this guy and gal working at the Starbucks, as well as having conversations with other baristas about different things, including having retired from the government, the differences between Starbucks outlets in China verse the US, and building a Japanese garden around our home. As it happened, I was recalled to the FBI Academy in Quantico, VA to lecture FBI Special Agents in Training just before 911 and remember looking down from the plane at Pentagon on the way in and viewing the same section struck during the false flag operation a few days later. On the plane, I happened to be sitting next to former Sen. Gary Hart and made small talk about who can you trust in D.C. The resulting answer concluded with an agreement that if you wanted a friend in Washington, then buy a dog. Personally the best two days when visiting D.C., have remained the day I arrive and the day I leave for home again. Anyway that Academy lecture, marks the last occasion that I have flown since becoming an FBI Whistleblower Patriot. That whistleblower status occurred from simply doing my job during a special investigation and following the Bush White House's obstruction of justice to suppress the evidence, after discovering that two federal administrators had committed congressional perjury in their commission of the theft of government funds as black project budgets totaling in the millions. Black budgets have little if any real oversight unless a whistleblower steps forward with special knowledge to overturn and expose the legalized criminality of projects deemed classified for concealment purposes. All of that has left me politically sanctioned, blacklisted and my security clearance outed multiple times, but back to Starbucks. Before leaving to lecture at the FBI Academy, the folks who knew me at Starbucks, asked if I could bring them some overpriced branded FBI gifts from the PX; i.e., sweatshirts, snow globes, coins, baseball caps, and golf balls. When I returned a few days later to Portland and headed over for a coffee, the Starbucks guy who is the focus of this review and story, was outside talking with another customer around his same age. So preparing to enter the store and handout gifts, I said, hey man, I'm back and placed an FBI sweatshirt in his hands. The FBI sweatshirt of that type cannot be bought anywhere else, other than the FBI Academy and are intended for friends and family members.