Committed

Ace hefted a brick through the Starbucks window with a guttural yawp. "Down with corpocracy!" Adolescent anarchists around him slapped him on the back and hooted their solidarity and approval.

Four months later, Ace was hella thirsty and tired of waiting for his friend to get off work so he could bum a ride. The only place open within walking distance was that perverse purveyor of premium percolated drinks.

He'd wisely worn a ski mask that night so he couldn't be identified on Big Coffee's security video. Sheepishly, Ace walked through the front door, checking quickly and irrationally to see if any trace of glass remained sparkling on the sidewalk.

When the barista asked his name, he defiantly said, "Anarchy." He got the steaming beverage, and the cup had "Anne" scribbled on it with a smiley face. Damn them and their delicious Caramel Brulee Latte!