samsun serenade: where the coffee’s bitter and the stories are sticky

honestly i wasn’t expecting much when i rolled into this place mid-day. 5.68c out. 85% humidity somehow clinging to everything like it’s holding its breath. i just checked and it’s… that same clingy chill right now, hope you like that kind of thing. my laptop fan’s working overtime to keep my laptop from melting into a gelatinous mess.

there’s this weather-helpless, unapologetic. like the town itself is whispering, ’sorry, not sorry, you chose this.’ but hey, complaints aside, i doubled down. grabbed a cup of coffee from that tiny joint down the street. built a blanket fort in the parking lot. it’s not exactly romantic, but it’s human.

i overheard this from a guy with a beard so thick it could moonlight as fabric. through a gap in his mask, he said, ‘this coffee here? it’s so cold it might turn into a polar bear. or at least a really sad espresso.’ i laughed, because hey, honesty here is the law.

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i think the real spice here is the gossip. not the coffee, the people. someone told me the café owner’s been recycling the same sweater since 2012. it’s a button-up, covered in coffee stains. allegedly. i haven’t confirmed. but the barista swears it’s true. so if you’re worried about sustainability, maybe bring your own mug. or don’t. your call.
bloquote

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