Today's segment comes from a story written about this photo of a cup of Starbucks coffee. It is, as you will discover, pure fiction.

She enters the room and make a B-line straight for him, walking with purpose. The place is full, and everyone turns in their seats to watch the scene that is about to unfold. She places her bag on the table, removes her red jacket, revealing a figure-hugging black dress underneath that would melt any man, and orders her usual – Caramel Latte with extra froth. She looks into his eyes as she says it, and he can feel her eyes boring into his soul, reading his mind, knowing everything that he feels. She reaches out a single hand towards him and lets it gently cup his face. “Jackson,” she whispers, reading the nametag on his chest. “Jackson.” He’s always hated the name, but she makes it sound so heavenly. She leans in towards him over the counter, her hand still resting on his cheek, still murmuring his name over and over again. “Jackson. Jackson.”

“Jackson?”
He feels a hard prod in the ribs, and opens his eyes to find himself staring straight at Nicole’s breasts. Not a bad view, but he doubts she’ll appreciate it, her being his boss and all.