Excerpted from pgs. 165, 166:
The walk back to the building usually took longer than the walk to Starbuck's, since I had to distribute my coffees and snacks. I preferred to hand them out to the homeless, a small band of regulars who hung out on stoops and slept in doorways on 57th Street, thumbing the city's attempts to "clean them up." The police always hustled them away before rush hour kicked into high gear, but they were still hanging out when I was doing the day's first coffee run. There was something so fantastic - invigorating, really - in making sure that these overpriced, Elias-sponsored coffee faves made it into the hands of the city's most undesirable people.
I expensed twenty-four dollars [sic] more every day [sic] on coffee than necessary (Miranda's single latte should've cost a mere four dollars) to take yet another passive-aggressive swipe at the company, my personal reprimand to them for Miranda Priestly's free rein [sic]. I handed them out to the filthy, the smelly, and the crazy because that - and not the wasted money - was what would really piss them off.
The Devil Wears Prada
Lauren Weisberger
© C Harris Lynn, 2008
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