She said she liked her coffee cold and dark like the seas separating her bed and Denmark:
harsh and bitter and brown in the largest cup we own, so when drinking it your nose would drown into an abyss of cheap-coffee-granule- buy-one-get-one-free ****;
and delivered with it upon the stolen tray, taken from that shop's Kitchen Must Haves display, was a plate with two triangles of lightly toasted toast laid out like the ankles of my late Grandma (but we weren't together then so, to you, it just looked like some toast arranged nicely on a plate for us two);
and in all of this I was apparently making a fool of myself because serving you a delicious breakfast to the sound of Frank Sinatra's Moon River is not what we discussed, ever- even last night or last week, in fact, we never talked about this horrendously unique breakfast.