through a starbucks darkly

Starbucks, Dawson Street, at evening.
The plain people of Ireland are quaffing coffees.
Not a single good looking one among them.
I cast an unquiet glance through the salon.
No sign of Miss Boo Tease.
"Yesterday it was the land of milk and honeys," I mutter acerbically. "And today it's the land of farts and shite."