Septum Flair’s Sharpie skated across the cup. “Iced lavender latte for Clark…” “Lark. There is no C.” “Got it.” “Clark Klark” was scrawled in a messy hand on the cardboard cup when our order appeared at the counter. “Every. Time.” “No C, at least,” I pointed out. “Whose side are you on, anyway, Colm?” She smirked, deliberately pronouncing the name on the side of my cup wrong.
