that fucking island. i spent 5 years out there, ruining my lung and footwear with the damp. along the way i came to appreciate good coffee. problem was the stuffed bunch of cunts and zealots that make it. i got pretty good look when i worked the taps for a few months. typical service industry cattiness mixed with the paranoia of hyper-caffienation. i don’t know who i hated more, the customers or the staff. whatever, i learned a lot about what goes into good, third wave coffee. i learned even more about what shouldn’t. i left it, of course, no money and moved back here to whore my services out. there’s lots of coffee here, boutique swill served in fancy cages. bunk scenes filled with black death. i’ve taken to making coffee at home.