Lauren Weisberger. The devil wears Prada (№ 349332)

An elderly lady sitting in a small cart and holding a cardboard that says "homeless. You can wash the floors. Want to eat" received caramel machiato. I soon learned that her name was Teresa, and first bought her latte as Miranda. She always thanked him, but never touched coffee while it was still hot. When I finally asked her if I should stop bringing her coffee, she energetically shook his head and mumbled that I can't afford to be picky, but she would like something sweeter, because this coffee is too strong for her. The next day I brought her a latte with vanilla and whipped cream. Well, it's better? Oh yeah, it's much, much better, but perhaps too sweet. The day I finally hit her: it turned out that Teresa all the other varieties prefer unflavored coffee with whipped cream and burnt sugar. She breaks into a toothless smile and began to greedily swallow of coffee as soon as I handed her a Cup.
The old lady who propped herself up on her cart and set out a cardboard sign that read NO Home/CAN CLEAN/NEED FOOD got the Caramel Macchiato. I soon found her name was Theresa, and I used to buy her a tall latte, like Miranda's. She always said thank you, but she never made a move to taste it while it was still hot. When I finally asked her if she wanted me to stop bringing them, she vigorously shook her head and mumbled that she hates to be picky, but she'd actually like something sweeter, that the coffee was too strong. The next day I had her coffee flavored with vanilla and topped with whipped cream. Was this better? Oh yes, it was much, much better, but maybe now it was a touch too sweet. One more day and I finally got it right: it turns out Theresa liked her Coffee unflavored, topped with whipped cream and some caramel syrup. She flashed a near-toothless smile and began guzzling it each and every day, the moment I handed it to her.