72 words: Iconoclast

Heated milk frothed to a thick layer on the dark espresso. The barista drew a flower on the foam and slid the cup down the wood counter. A patron next to her sat sipping free-trade coffee while editing drafts from a slush pile. A ping pong game in the middle of the room heated up. She could stay here forever, a fly on the wall, in this world of bean and birch.

 

Real talk about Iconoclast and coffee.

 

 

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