welcome to the 12th inning of a college baseball game
Victor Hugo goes up to the counter and describes the drink he wants in detail for an hour, laying out the minutiae of the process, presentation, and backstory of his extremely simple dark roast with sugar. By the time he’s finished, the store is closed, the barista has left, and Victor returns home empty-handed.
Hemingway goes up to the counter and orders one espresso. It’s hot. He drinks it in silence. It makes him remember his father’s cabin. He thinks about the woman he loved once. He does not smile. The coffee reminds him of war - short but painful, swallowed down quickly. One could order worse drinks. He leaves Starbucks and walks out into the rain.
Austen goes up to the counter and orders a cinnamon spice latte. The barista is a bore. The man behind her in line orders exactly what she orders; he too is a bore. He is handsome in the conventional sense, but there is no chance they could ever be married.
Candied pumpkins, sweet egg bread
We love rising from the dead
MY FAVORITE SONG FOR MY FAVORITE SEASON