I particularly enjoyed this post, and this poem. I drink a great deal of coffee, and "fancy coffeehouse beverages" at an adorable art gallery in my hometown, run by an amazing barista. She bakes her own pastries, bakes her own bread for the panini sandwiches — and simply makes the best cappuccino I've ever had.
However, I digress. I have been to chain coffeehouses in plenty of places, and can understand your lament. The poem must be shared with my friend, our local artist, barista and treasure. SHE will get the joke — as she always strives to be the polar opposite of such an establishment.
Can you find a good cup of java in a "Mom and Pop diner", or its UK-equivalent?
2 thoughts on “URBAN LAMENT”