At first I was sad at the bill for a cup of coffee just past the Swiss border. But desperation for caffeine does not abide in a financial sphere. It stands commandingly beyond limits.
Train coffee.
In a paper cup. And it was one of the bast damn things I ever threw on my poor mal-entertained taste buds. So this is Switzerland, methinks to myself. And then I fought back tears as the scenery swept past me. Just because people say things are beautiful doesn’t mean you’ll agree, or more poignantly, doesn’t mean you even know what that means or how you might prepare yourself. Real beauty is like death–sudden and awesome, larger than what is housed in your skeleton to easily absorb.
And let us never grow so old, complacent and bitter that a goddamn great cup of coffee can’t be a much-appreciated novelty in itself.
