[A Small Tea Shop, Somewhere in Serveshire]
"Here's your coffee, Sir."
The lady pleasantly lays down the set of cups and the saucer down, a smile pasted on her face. I am at a small tea shop somewhere in the market. It is a glaring Sunday afternoon in the middle of August and there is a general lack of energy in the market. I have left my guard dog at home, at Sommet du Ciel (Elian is not a guard dog but he might as well be). The coffee is unlike the ones they serve at Starbucks or at coffee stalls, where they put your coffee in a designated coffee container. The coffee of this era is brewed lightly and with less creamer, more sugar. It seems as though they are still accustomed to the bitter taste and they serve it in their usual teacups paired with their saucers. I had to ask for mine with extra espresso because I liked mine bitter.
