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.