Dear coffee, Now that I’ve decided to write you a letter, I should like to tell you quite a few things, many of which may be very difficult for you to accept. Ever since I was in my late teens I’ve always been quite a compulsive coffee addict. I could tell you, Oh somewhat demonically inclined brew, with which I have always been quite inordinately preoccupied, that over the course of all this timeyou have consistently subjected me to as much pain and sorrow, at the very least, as happiness and enjoyment. For the past couple of decades it appears the we’ve come to a bit more of an understanding but for a while there you gave me a bit too much trouble. You gave me nightmarishly bad migraines, and a violently sick stomach if I drank you black. I never even so much as dare to think of drinking you black anymore, and the headaches have stopped, though now they occasionally come from other sources, and I have always lost sleep over you. I enjoy you in a wide variety of flavors and ethnic varieties, as the ladies at the Coffee Nut Cafe on Park Avenue know quite well. Many people only enjoy the plain kind. Steve doesn’t like any flavors. Sam appears to like only the Costa Rican kind. I like all varieties though. If somehow, over the course of one day, I could put all my feelings about coffee into a letter, I should say that you, like many people, can have quite an intoxicating effect on an individual, leading him to push his luck quite inordinately and to accept quite a horrendous amount of punishment in exchange for a nice time. Now that the nasty part of our relationship is over, you’re like an old friend, who always seems to show up at precisely the right times, in order to help me both to enjoy festive occasions and to endure hardship.
Your Biggest Fan
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