Final Step Cafe, Melbourne. Murphy Street, Toorak.
Double Ristretto. I only risk the double rist when great rewards are offered.
Probably the best I’ve ever had – the real deal.

It refused to be relegated to the background, to quietly shuffle to the corner of my consciousness behind the smells, sounds, emails, projects, intentions. It asserted itself like a neglected love: “I demand that you savour me.”
I surrender.

I’m not sure if I gave it my concentration, pouring myself into the cup, or whether the coffee extracted myself out of myself. But for a moment, delicious moment, such rich, salty, complexity. I was the house blend.

There is in fine coffee an innocence of excellence. In the earnest communion of coffee, one enters into a little sphere of freedom. Read Hannah Arendt, she knows what I’m talking about… A field in which necessity does not rule, of action, that redeems the worlds of Labour (generating the necessities of survival from our environment) and Work (producing a durable world capable of historical consciousness).

Our society is marked by a terrible drive toward necessity, to rationalisation and computation. But in the laneways it is still possible to find certain quiet men, usually bearded (after all nothing says ‘Damn Necessity!’ than luxuriant foliage upon the face), who pass earnest conversation hand to hand. Among them ephemerality, particularity, extravagant care, unnecessary beauty, and yes, freedom live on.
Perhaps waiting for the one who put such things in the world?

In our cups we will live.