“Did this Marine put his hands on your uniform?”

“He did, General,” I said, keeping my voice even and exact.

“Two fingers on my right shoulder seam.”

Evan took a small, uncertain step toward my chair, his hands spreading in a helpless gesture that looked completely wrong on an infantryman.

“Ma’am, I’m really sorry,” Evan said, all the arrogance drained out of his stance.

“Let me go back to the kiosk right now and get you a fresh cup of coffee.

I’ll bring it straight to your seat, hot and black, just the way you like it.