I shan’t be staying silent any longer.
The coffee in America tastes like burnt mixed with sadness with an added teaspoon of disappointment and it’s cruel.
It’s mostly cruel because coffee represents hope and excitement. Joy and laughter. Productivity and comfort. So when you take one big gulp and you realise you’re sipping on some sort of coffee flavoured water infused with ashtray and dirt one cannot help but mutter grumpily, “This. Is. Not. What. I. Ordered.”
You see, I’ve been to the United States three times. I love it. The people are ridiculously friendly, there’s always someone singing and/or dancing in the middle of the street for no reason and 80 per cent of the time they’re actually good, and the quality of their trashy television is unparalleled.
But when I travelled to Hawaii just a few weeks ago, I came with a brand new addiction.