Dripped coffee


As the barista artistically made my drip coffee this morning at Central Market, he told me how I’d notice hints of brown sugar and citrus in the freshly roasted local brew, and he described the roasting process used by PT’s in Kansas City, sharing his admiration for their blends. Meanwhile, I’m picturing our future together in our little coffee shop. He’s at the counter helping customers, and I’m in the back running our website and taking online orders. As my new husband gently handed me my cup of passionately brewed…errr, dripped… coffee, I asked for cream. His face contorted in horror and I heard the needle rip across the romantic soundtrack as he called the divorce lawyer and I lost custody of our cute little coffee shop. At least I got to keep the dog.