Over the next few weeks, the caffeine began calling to them. They were well on their wayto being addicts now, comfortable ensconced in a nice steamy cup of denial more than ten or twelve times a day, as the two of them began to stretch the boundaries of their imaginations, their digestive systems, and their own menu.“I want to triple expresso with a moo-moo twist,” said the husband, still staying coffeehardcore even with his crazy requests.“Well, I’ll take a mocha cappuccino latte with soy.”“Jesus, woman, is there even room for the coffee in there?” The husband turned to hisemployees. “Screw the moo-moo twist. Give me a quadruple expresso. Just line them up in thoselittle shot glasses right here.”“All right, forget the cappuccino latte. I’ll take a chai velvet ice topped with cinnamon.”The husband turned to look at her. “That’s cold.”“I know,” she said with a self satisfied smile.They began to fight about everything. Where there had been love, passion, care, now onlyhad room for jangled nerves and coffee breath. They even fought about the kind of people whocame in to the coffee shop. The wife favored the groups of mothers. The husband was more intothe students. Neither of them cared much for the skateboard slackers and their little laptops.Mainly, I think it was all of them that caused the wife and husband trouble. The whole relaxing,lounging crowd. How could all those people drink all this caffeine and then do nothing?