I was standing in line at a Starbucks, somewhere between flights, when I noticed him — a young Marine in full dress blues. He stood tall, posture like steel, and ordered his coffee without hesitation.
“Venti. Black, Dark roast.”
No cream. No sugar. Just the essentials.
I stepped up behind him and asked quietly, “Heading out or coming home?”
He turned, just slightly, and said, “Heading back. Got a couple days off to see my mom.”
When the barista called out his total, I handed over my card and said, “I’ve got it.”
He didn’t make a big deal. Just a nod. A thank-you, tucked behind his eyes.
Before he walked away, he looked back at me and said, “Take care of yourself, Santa.”
Sometimes, the deepest moments are the smallest ones. No speeches. No ceremony. Just two humans in a coffee line — one heading back into something most of us will never fully understand.
It’s a small world—and we’re all neighbors. Even in line at Starbucks.