I have a number of addictions. One is coffee. Specifically Starbucks.
I am told there are “better” coffee shops. I am aware that a Grande Latte costs the same as a gallon of gas (though, relatively my coffee is looking cheaper and cheaper). But now I cannot even order a coffee at the end of a meal in a restaurant, such is my need for the Green Siren. I will leave, even a very nice expensive establishment, and go get my latte in a paper cup from Starbucks.
Because of what it represents. It’s my morning treat. My luxury. My ten minutes of solace. A pick-me up. A quite cogitate. I also buy the Starbucks “third space” idea. Not home. Not work. But the modern American equivalent of a British “pub” where you can wander in, alone or with others, chat, read the newspaper, check email and sip your beverage along with the like-minded.