Coffee

It is afternoon. I want coffee, I suggest we find some. I need a sit down, my back is hurting. Google maps finds five nearby coffee shops, I pick the one with the best photo of coffee, nice white porcelain cups. Shrug, it is as good as anything else to go on. It’s a nice little market arrange'mont, unfortunately playing what sounds like Middle Eastern music on crack. I imagine some 1920s ingenue spinning like a whirling dervish with veils, while her coke addicted boyfriend drums manically, blowing a whistle out his arse for all he’s worth. The coffee, of course, is average. [roll of the eyes] Melbourne coffee drinkers are hard to please, I understand, but people how hard can it be? Really? I’m not asking you to solve string theory, it is just the blending of ground beans and hot water. How difficult can it be, for fuck sake?