Spirit of the Crema

That morning had started out like any other Thursday morning: I started walking the four blocks it took to get from my apartment to the bus stop, with my usual visit to the little coffee shop along the way. And, like most days, I ordered a triple espresso to give me my first boost of the day.

Things changed when the spike-haired barrista with the eyebrow piercings asked if I wanted a free extra shot. The machine only made two at a time, and since the place was unusually empty, my odd numbered order would leave a surplus.

So, what the hell? I said yes, and left with my quadruple-powered morning booster rocket.

As I strolled out into the brilliant light of the day, I peeled off the cup’s lid – it would cool off quicker that way, but I really liked to get a full nose of the stuff before I started sipping away.

“Hi,” said the cup.

Well, more accurately, the word had been formed by the crema floating atop the cup’s contents. By some miracle, I kept a grip on the cup and refrained from spilling it as I gaped.

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