“The low, auburn, intimate lighting meshed so comfortably with the triptych of stick figures and the soft, burnt orange lounge chairs. The background of “here comes the sun, doo da doo doo” nicely complements the low hum of the blenders and the clashing of the pitchers. The click clacking of black, sleek heels and snapping of flip-flops rhythmically match the incessant chatter of the wives, lawyers, and grandfathers. The air is aromatically clouded with java beans, peppermint shavings, and hazelnut syrup.

The mind envisions innumerable heavens but only creates a mess of destructive hells.”