Roland, the Melancholy Starbucks Patron

"Oh, life!" yawned Roland from his seat in the second booth near the window at the 17th Street Starbucks. He scratched his flanks with a sleepy smack of his cafeteria-pink lips. Glumly he flicked the Reduced Fat Very Berry Coffee Cake crumbs from the collar of a wrinkled pale blue linen shirt.
"I am like a Dürer print. These crumbs are like my sadness," he jotted in his Moleskine, jabbing the umlauts with special fervor. Roland nodded with satisfaction. He leaned back in the booth at a careful 30 degree angle and watched a daddy longlegs crawl into a corner.
"Oh, to see the natural world from this sprawling steaming concrete jail!" he wrote furiously, flinging azure ink all over his crumby cotton shirt. Roland frowned and scratched out steaming and wrote hellish. He nodded again.
"Oh, words!" Roland started all of his sentences with Oh. He frowned deep in thought for two hours then got a refill on his extra hot venti hazelnut cappuccino, and he sighed very deeply when the barista asked him soy or regular milk.
"Oh, this world," he frowned with a sad chuckle. "This. World."