The coffee shop closed and was replaced by an exterminator. Finney was beside himself. He didn't drive and weak knees meant he couldn't walk far. Staying home and making instant was a poor substitute. He craved the socializing at the shop and loved people watching.
He walked for a few blocks aimlessly. He had to fill this void.
Desperate, he began ringing bells at strangers homes and asking if he could join them for coffee. Some saw the pleading in his eyes and consented. Most did not. But as time went on, he became annoying. One day he knocked on the door of a house he was unfamiliar with. The door opened. A man stood there in Batman pajamas, holding a machete. The man screamed something in a foreign language, scaring the hell out of Finney, who ran home.
Neighbors have not seen him since. His mail piles up. The consensus is he has snapped. If only he had appreciated orange juice and sitting home watching Kelly Ripa.
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