I think it's completely natural to feel that as you're trying to keep up with the world around you, no matter how hard you try, gay or straight, you will always feel like you're on the outside looking in. All those glossy magazines at the supermarket, showing us what we we're not or what we don't have, feeding our urges to consume. Because once we have it all, THEN we'll be happy.

I put the magazine rack in Mocha Daze and so far my hunch is paying off. People are interested in knowing more about what they don't have-- and will pay to dream about it. Even if they don't achieve that around-the-world vacation or that $100,000 sports car, they'll pay $4 a magazine to see what it would be like.

Money in my pocket. Call me selfish, I call it good business. And what better way to enjoy that magazine than with a hot cappuccino or latte, where the caffeine will surge through your body and make you feel invincible to finally achieve that dream vacation or buy that $10,000 television. And when you declare bankruptcy two years later, you can at least say that for one brief shining moment, "I did have it all."

The phone rang as I finished up with a customer who was buying a double grande latte, a pecan cinnamon muffin, and a MENS FITNESS magazine. I hate to tell you this buddy, but that's not the way to perfect abs.

"Mocha Daze, can I help you?" I said, putting the cash in the register.

There was silence from the other end of the phone. "Mocha Daze?" I repeated.

"I know...what happened." It was Peter and he sounded upset.

"Hi Peter. What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You killed her."

Suddenly my heart was racing. How did he know? Did that hit man talk? Or was this the beginning of some blackmail scheme?

"Peter, Barbra is dead. I'm angry too. But don't start blaming me."

"You planned it."

"And why would I do that?"

"Look at what you have," said Peter. At that moment a customer walked in, someone who looked vaguely familiar.

"Peter, where are you? I'll meet you after work."

"Murderer."

"Calm down!" The customer looked at the magazine rack and I recognized who it was. Mike from the old gang. He walked with a limp, checking out the crowd. He approached the counter, nodding hello.

Peter continued raging on the phone. "Peter, I have to call you back." I hung up.

I looked up at Mike who extended his hand. "Steve, right?" I nodded yes, as we shook hands.

The phone rang again.

"Busy day?" said Mike, surveying the crowd once again.

"Mocha Daze, can I help you?"

"I'm going to the police." It was Peter again, only this time he sounded defiant-- and determined. And as I looked at Mike, I realized what I had to do.

"I'll be right over, Peter." I hung up the phone, my eyes welling with tears.

"What's wrong?"

How do you hook a fish? With juicy bait.

"A friend...is dying."

I quickly removed my apron and motioned to some co-workers that I was leaving, but I couldn't leave them alone. My eyes darted to Mike.

"Want to make $50? All you have to do is make sure the staff does their job. I'll be back shortly."

"I'm meeting my girlfriend and then-"

"Please, I trust you. You know this place." I could tell he was confused as I handed him the apron. "It's an emergency. I'll explain when I get back. Please, I need your help."

Before he had a chance to answer, I was moving to the back door and my parked car. Whatever Peter knew, I was going to have to take care of him. Either an accident or a disappearance.

There was no way my plan was going to unravel. Not now.