Nothing compares to the bitter Joe served down at the Phoenix.
It's a transcendental experience.
A meditation.
Time,
stops.
I sip slowly.
The aromatic curls of vapor waft through my nostrils.
Like so many fingers, tracing the lines of my haggard, sleep-deprived face.
Sip.
Pause.
Sip.
Pause.
Sip.
Pause.
There is great solace in this ritual.
That is,
until she showed up...
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