Cuppacetic

When a stint in the local coffee joint delights.

“Everything is absolutely cuppacetic,” swoons Cubby to au pair Natasha from the second Starbucks on the block, his IPhone engrimed with chocochip-scone crumbs. “I’m dead wired on triple green molto frappes. Be home in a few, put Jacob to bed—ta-ta!”

“Cuppacetic!” said Rune, his mania aflame. “I love this place!”
“Get your hand out of my sweater and quaff your quad, you dirty hound,” was the only retort that came to Mamie’s mind.

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