(And yeah, in the morning, that’s often the face that greets me in the mirror. Sad true story.)
Brainstorm? With only one brain? It’s just me and my cup of coffee here, and he’s not so big on conversation. Espresso yourself, good buddy, I might say. And he might answer –
“How’s this for a novel plot – an old Italian guy named Macchiato Cappuccino travels to Americano to start a new life (because, you know, better latte than never) where he opens up a (SURPRISE) coffee shop in a town named Java, meets a wonderful lady, the beautiful Melya Kopi Tubruk whose love of Irish Coffee presents Macchiato with his only really big challenge in the story, that of converting her to Ristretto and of course winning her heart in the process.”
That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Well, wait till you hear this, then. Outside the shop he hangs a gigantic hand painted sign that says DRINK COFFEE: DO STUPID THINGS FASTER WITH MORE ENERGY: YOU CAN SLEEP WHEN YOU’RE DEAD: Double shot hammerheads Oliang $1.00 “.
Gawd. Talking coffee mugs. The one brain I’ve been blessed with is seriously malfunctioning.
“Yep, your brain is pretty much completely freeze-dried today. I’m standing my grounds. My shot in the dark may be breva but it’s got more frappe than a Madras Lungo, and you have yet to come up with anything at all, so mocha good luck with that; I’m done.”
Good. Your plot was dull as dirt.
Stupid au lait.