When the bell goes off and the doors to the Staten Island ferry ramp are closing, there's still time for coffee if you head straight for the McDonald's Express Coffee Line.

For a long time I boycotted McDonald's because I was opposed to their styrofoam cups. But the desire for a decent cup of coffee (by ferry terminal standards) won out over my environmental concerns. Fast service was another consideration.

A man named Sammy presides over the Coffee Line. (At least I think his name is Sammy - that's what everyone seems to call him. For all I know his name may be Ahmed.) No matter how close I cut it in the morning, Sammy always delivers. He usually spots me from across the terminal and lets me know by nodding in my direction. I see him in the distance mouthing instructions over his shoulder to the coffee pourer. At this point, I'm jogging towards the counter and fumbling in my bag for a dollar bill. Bam. A hand slams a napkin down on the plastic lid. Milk one sugar, Sammy says just to make sure. He has memorized the way hundreds of people take their coffee. He knows us by names that sound vaguely Native American: Light One Sugar. Light and Sweet. Black No Sugar.

I hand over a dollar, a dime is pressed into the center of my palm. The last bell is ringing as the other door to the ferry entrance starts closing very slowly, people run towards it willy nilly. I slip through the narrow space, just in time.