"Living here in Rio, I have lots of coffees to choose from. And when you're on the lam like me, you appreciate a good cup of coffee." -Ronald Biggs, Great Train Robber The last great round that Latin orb the morning eye that measures you. No Nescafe premature percolation or Sanka, the sexless drip. Give me the send off, a European handshake, the South American kissoff, the bossa nova, the tango on the tongue that wraps your hands around it smooth as Ricardo Montalban's voice. The froth that erupts from the tall glass cup with the dexterous spoon. Earth milk, liquid jazz. Espresso, the fast fuck in an elevator. The Brazilian cherry, the Venetian bind, the Turkish threat. The cappucino hue of your skin when it's loved. The slow grind, the bitter syrup at the bottom flecked with cinnamon. The night in a mug, dream's diesel.
©Bruce Hunter, 1986 -- unauthorized duplication prohibited