Two stories worth repeating: Yesterday I was dragging arou 2pm and needed a fix. I went downstairs, and ordered my double... Ryan made the shot, but before handing it to me, paused: "I think I may have packed the coffee too tightly, and it may have overextracted - let me dilute it for you"
I insisted on the full strength monkeyfur brew... and he refused to charge me for it. Apparently if the coffee isn't up to his standards, it's going to get tossed, so might as well give it away. I do love this joint.
Today, I went down for a post-lunch toot, and caught the following conversational snippet from Ryan (who you'll recall was in hospital last week, and also voted me best dressed):
"After Chemo, I can't drink for a few days, and my friends usually call me up to go out knowing they've got a guaranteed designated driver".
There are at least three different layers of sadness implicit in that statement. To be honest, I'm a bit bummed.
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