Tastes like carrots.

I looked at The Man. He matched my stare.  I daintily sipped mine.  He cautiously sampled his.  My mind searched.  His, too.  It must have been mere seconds, but it certainly seemed much more.  Gingerly returning his cup to the saucer, The Man uttered, “It tastes like…”

Carrots?” I offered.

“Yes, carrots.  Exactly like carrots.”

The long-awaited, specially ordered, paid-too-much-for coffee tastes like…


Disappointment abounds.

End.  Of.  Story.

Love & coffee.

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