Why the Locals Don't Go to Starbucks

In a short, sheer, baby-doll negligee and coordinated pink panties, Candice Law is dressed to work at a drive-through espresso stand in Tukwila, and she is working it.

Customers pull their trucks up to the window, where Law greets each with an affectionate nickname, blows kisses, and vamps about as she steams milk for a mocha. 'You want whipped cream?' she asks, a sly smile playing on her pierced lip.

The next customer rolls up, and Law throws a long leg onto the window sill, like an indie-rock ballerina at the barre.

'Do you like my leg warmers?' she asks. 'Aren't they hot?'

I'd like a quad-tall, half soy-half cream breve over a single brown sugar cube, grated lemon on top. Oh, and could you spank yourself one -- no, make that two times -- for me. I forgot about today's staff meeting. I'm going to need a little extra something to get me through that.

Shimmy?

Oh, yes, please. I can't believe I left that out.