e.e. cummings g o e s
to the counter &orders
until the baristalady w h i s t l e s his name—
"how do you like your coffee, mr. poet?"
George R.R. Martin goes up to the counter and orders a series of incredibly complicated drinks, each more detailed and layered than the last. The barista works for an hour and finally hands them across the counter to Martin, who promptly throws one of them away with little to no explanation. That coffee had been the barista’s favorite.
please consult the group chat before making any life decisions
ah yes the four seasons. wet, hot, halloween, and christmas
Jellicoe Road (via livingthroughbooks)