It's amazing people's need for speed. Mocha Daze had been closed for a week since my arrest but upon opening again, all the regular coffee heads were back in line-including several people I'd never seen before. As much as I loathed Starbucks, I was happy for their burgeoning "coffee awareness" that has hooked millions of people onto caffeine. Hey, it's a drug and I'm happy to supply it.

I had lost most of my staff, with the exception of Brenda who claimed several credit cards were chewing her ass and needed every dime she could make.

"Iced double no foam non-fat latte." Said Brenda, reciting the order back to me.

"No," I countered. "Iced double foam non-fat latte."

"Iced double no foam latte."

"NO Brenda! Iced double FOAM non-fat latte."

Perhaps with her extra money she could buy a hearing aid. The gentleman handed me a $50 bill and I didn't have any change. I opened my wallet, scouring through it, realizing I wasn't even close.

"Uh...sir, I can't break that."

"Well, that's all I got."

There was an awkward pause, the two of us realizing whoever spoke next would lose.

I pushed the drink forward. "You can pay me next time."

He smiled, nodded thank you, and out the door he went. As I served the next customer, I realized he probably would never come back. I began to think about getting to the bank and getting some change but knew there was no money in my account. I was operating solely on incoming cash flow and while there was a small line of customers waiting, I wouldn't be able to make much by the end of the day.

Bottom line, I was broke and had to sell something.

I thought about the bad art on the walls but realized only some poor college student would want the surreal paintings of clouds and Barbie dolls.

And then I saw it.

I immediately grabbed a pen and scribbled on the back of a napkin, "FOR SALE-$500." I crossed over to one of the internet computers and taped it to the wall above. Any computer geek would know this was a VERY good deal.

And then I thought of the repercussions, of customers realizing perhaps that I was in dire straits and needed money. They'd see me as weak. Would they still patronize this establishment?

I tried not to let my fear stop me. Here I was, a murderer, concerned with what people thought of me?

Brenda struggled with another drink order when suddenly a little voice inside me said, "Everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be just fine."

And then this woman at the register handed me a $100 bill.

"Do you have anything smaller?"

"No, I'm sorry, I don't."

She was one of those Hollywood executive types who I could tell everyone else around her was just an inconvenience. She waited patiently, wondering what I was going to do.

"Do you have a credit card?"

"I want to pay cash."

"I can't break that. Either we put it on your credit card or you don't get the drink."

This would be the test for her need for speed. She mumbled something under her breath and then flashed her platinum American Express.

"I don't think I've ever charged $2.75 on this." She said, smirking.

"We don't take American Express." I said, smiling.

She sighed, clearly annoyed, and handed over her gold Visa card. With the merchant charges, I'd end up making less than half of my cost, but it was the principal of the thing.

She signed the credit slip and took her capp, leaving her receipt on the counter.

In that instant I wanted to kill her. Just wipe that attitude off her face. She was living in her own movie and thought she was somebody when, in fact, she was a NOBODY.