Gaheris is having what passes for a good day with him--he's neat and clean and just got back from the art supply store (an independent establishment, which means it's more expensive, but it's also got better quality stuff, and he sacrifices his beer money for that), so he has a few canvases under his arm and a plastic bag of charcoal and paintbrushes. He's clean-shaven as well, and it makes him look younger than he is. By several millennia.
All the people are making him a little shaky, though, so he stops, ostensibly to get something to drink. As the line moves, he studies the menu printed above the counter very carefully, but the way things turn out, by the time it's his turn, he's frowning.
"Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what'll you be having to-day?" The cashier is a little manic and chewing her gum furiously.
"Coffee," Gaheris says firmly.
"Okay, uh, what size?"
"What?"
"Hurry up, buddy," behind him in the line somewhere.