Andrew was late. On arriving at the Brobdingragian building in which was located the room in which the moving finger testily tapped a tattoo waiting to record Andrew’s future and move on he found that the Devil had placed a number of human obstacles at the doorway in order to vex him further. He patiently allowed the entire bloody herd through, smiling a genial greeting at each while he pumped the heat out of his shirt and caught the breath that had escaped him on his jog.

Andrew registered his arrival at the front desk and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the air conditioned interior of the building as he quickly arranged his clothes and hair. The girl at the desk (who seemed as at all times to occupy the wrong amount of space, a smaller space than would be required by her five feet and six inches and fifty-five kilograms), observing the effect of clocks upon Andrew’s facial muscles, assured him that Mr. Brobdingrag would understand that things happen and he had nothing to worry about.

It was a Wednesday some time in the '90's

coke was out and heroin was in

Andrew still had that old station wagon

and we piled inside

me and you and Victoria Something

we called Andrew “Jesus”

he looked like Jesus

long brown hair and sorrowful eyes

the sun was shining

the radio was on

we drove out of Memphis down to New Orleans

and we left town on a whim that morning.

Going beyond coffee geek and into wholly new, frequently eccentric territory.

"It's a joke…maybe it's not a joke"
—James Hoffmann's Bripe review

Spoiler Alert: it's not a joke. These people exist in our world. There could be one in your office, at your favourite campsite, in fact these days, almost anywhere. These are the people who go way beyond "coffee