The Other Other Third Place

I recalled the words of my aesthetician: 'look for apartments with blue doors . . . you keep going down the road and you see them.' There is no doubt, dear readers, this will most likely be the most expensive cup of coffee I ever buy. Turkish coffee, anyway. I'm saving my most expensive cup for civet coffee. Starbuck's most expensive cup depends on who's there. Who has an extensive economic knowledge of each ingredient and how willing they are to blend it all together and charge you. I remember the day I did that. It cost near eight dollars. It was mid-November. I was reading up on the banquets of some Italian duke who thought food should tell a story and meals served should resemble epoch moments in literature. Speaking of which, isn't food dazzling? Aside from eating it and a myriad of other talents, it also has the capacity to relay the future to those who choose to eat and read its left overs. Thus my current objective. There's a reason I'm telling you about ambiguous blue doors and my aesthetician, aside from wanting you to know I care about how well groomed I am. For beyond the blue awnings there is, I'm told, an old Turkish woman who reads the ground beans left over from the sludgy coffee she makes. Though skeptical, I'm more than interested in being able to eat and get a bargain on the side. As far as I'm concerned, it's the coffee I'm paying for, not the reading. Hence, my justification. I reckon the lady's been doing this for a long time, she must know what good coffee is, and if not, good fortune. Regardless, we will see, young masters, we will see. -Weezee

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