Something About Stimulant and The Details of Daybreak

Waxy, round, toasty and full of Earth. That’s the way I like my mornings. I say take me to the south islands where the brown can stand up to the cream. With a cup of this kinda stuff, it's okay to cry over spilled milk. Ahhh, the details of daybreak: it's not just the vinous aroma; it's not just how you’ve gotta make sure the seam in the paper cup is at 12 o’clock, not 6; it's not that being surrounded with intellectual beatnik transplants from up north makes all the difference; just some of it. Some of the sensory folly could be the excruciatingly protracted wait at the counter, the lack of parking, the back counter littered with press pots and digital timers or, even the more, than gnarly golf ball sized star shaped implants in the baristas forearm. It all comes together, almost all at once, almost every weekday morning. What is all of this you ask? It’s my AM raison d’être and i'ts all about the intangibles and how they flank the core truths of flavor. It’s what has become a nearly spiritual rite, a fixed path, a locked-in target, a milky manifesto, a pilgrimage to pleasure. Octane coffee lounge is the place, see you there..8:32 sharp.