The coffee is beautiful, more sophisticated. A steamed milk heart swirls the top of my maciato, which here is a different drink than my old place. The cup is so small that my enormous hand swallows it. My dainty pinky looks so out of place when it lifts as I drink.
I am handed a second glass, sparkling water, which is to cleanse my pallet following my maciato. It is refreshing.
The baristas are not emo kids or random band mates working between gigs.
This place is marked by its passion...you taste it.
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