A Fourth Cup

I've been going to funky coffeehouses since I was in my twenties, mostly because I became a "good coffee" fan early on, and the horrid stuff in regular places like cafes and restaurants drove me out in search of something quality. I haven't been able to drink the supermarket Folgers stuff for years: acidic, the oils are rancid, it's generally stale and flavorless. Then, I went to mostly Mom-and-Pop places, because that's all there was until Walmart Starbucks drove the LittleGuy out of town.

I almost died drinking the shellack from vending machines on my way to evening college classes after work, just so I could stay awake to listen to my English professor's (guy published a book of poetry and and thought he was something) lectures. And I felt so cheap: as if I needed to bring this up in confession to lift the stain of my perfidy from my soul. The memory of the horrible taste still make me shiver when I think about it.

Yeah, I liked good coffee before good coffee was cool. Kind of feel as if everyone has discovered my favorite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and now they've had to remodel and expand to meet the new demand, and have lost their original charm in the process, so the whole experience is overrun with people who don't appreciate the uniqueness of the original, and have trampled your pearl underfoot. If everyone is doing it, it's not my distinctive little thing anymore. Poor, poor me.