Dave gazed spitefully at the Coke Zero in the cup holder. Bullshit. It didn’t taste like regular Coke at all. If he had to be off coffee, he was going to get that Pepsi Max shit with twice the amount of caffeine. If his doctor knew what he had to deal with every day…man, he should just switch permanently to hard liquor.

     A car drove past Dave’s vehicle. Dave watched, hoping it would turn up the driveway, open the gate. But the car continued past the gate to Alan Poole’s expansive home. ‘His compound’ Dave thought to himself. Alan Poole, the charismatic bajillionare from the Midwest. Better still, his money was tied to oil, which made him all the more appealing to his political supporters. Actually, no one knew where his money came from. That’s where Dave came in. That’s where Dave sat in front of the gate to Alan Poole’s shielded enclosure.

This is printed on a Starbucks cup. So, here's the thing. When will everyone realize that we don't really know anything. The sum of all human knowledge is pretty much nothing. Everything we know, we came up with, which begs the question how do we know what we came up with is accurate?

Perhaps we can pursue knowledge, but the pursuit of knowledge cannot be equated with the pursuit of truth.

And Starbucks philosophy is pretty much dumb.