Amsterdam's tails hung low over the edge of the barstool, his wingblades twitching as he looked down across the counter. The woman he was waiting on had deep bags beneath her eyes, and she busied herself in the menial action of wiping out the inside of a glass. She looked his ways and their eyes met.
In trying times like this, there was only one thing a man could turn to for solace.
"One extra large latte. Almond milk. And a splash of mocha."
She gave him a wordless nod and turned to the milk taps behind her.