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Just toss it in the basket," she said, looking at him strangely.

"No, you don't understand. I want to buy this mug," he said, holding it up. "How much will you sell it for?"

"We have mugs for sale over on the rack by the bathroom. We don't sell these mugs." She pointed over to a large steel baker's rack. There were mugs on it with the Stompin' Grounds' logo emblazoned on the front.

"Look," he said, getting frustrated, "I'll pay whatever you want for this mug." He reached for his wallet.

"I'm sorry sir, but it's a policy here. Rafe doesn't sell these mugs." She held out her hand. "If you're finished with this one..."

Andy found himself running. He didn't know why, but he had to have the mug.

"Hey, stop!" It was as if Andy was in slow motion. He could hear yelling from behind him. He saw the geriatric squirrel-lady peering at him over her biscotti. All he could think about was getting out of the coffee shop. One of the baristas leapt the counter. Andy swerved to avoid him. He was almost to the door, arms swinging. All of a sudden, he felt something hot on his hand. The mug. He had taken his mind off of it for a split second, and it had refilled itself -- now there was coffee all over. In front of him, the door swung open and the man with the laptop stood -- mouth open, clutching his computer to his chest. Andy tried to stop, but his foot slipped on the coffee from the mug and he went down.

He fell in slow motion. The face of the man with the laptop flashed in front of him -- sneering. He put his left hand back to catch himself and his right hand flew up with the mug. He saw a dark stream of coffee hang in the air above him for a moment. He continued to watch it as it fell. Vaguely, he could feel the mug slip from his fingers.

He closed his eyes just before the coffee hit. Surprisingly, with hot coffee pouring down on him, all he could think about was the sound of glass shattering on the tile floor.