Coffee from the gods

I kidnapped Colin on Monday to help me lug boxes out of my car and into my new house, unbeknownst to him (therefore being a kidnapping). It wasn't really a kidnapping. We were to spend Monday together at Yosh's smelling pretty and I offered to carpool across the Bridge together. And, I thought, since he's in my car and my house isn't that far from Yosh's, maybe he'll help me unload.

He was a good sport about it. And, when we were done, we went to get coffee at the best and most random spot ever! Ever! It's a cart in the front of his dad's workplace on that tiny stretch of Linden between Gough and Octavia near that grassy spot with the wierd-looking temple thing. Our coffee was brewed by a nice, tall man with gray curly hair. He and some other nice man (but who wasn't nearly as tall) chatted with us about bikes and housing foundation.

I ordered a drip coffee and poured in some milk and sugar, which I then regretted. My first sip was divine; it was coffee like I never tasted before. Rich and not at all bitter. I felt bad for messing with its perfection with milk and sugar. What would it have tasted like black? I kept telling Colin how good it was for the next hour and, of course, he knew.

With coffee so good and so close, I might just ditch my organic Mayan beans, coffee grinder, and French press, and take a little stroll every morning, afternoon, and evening.