(flash story)

I sat down at a small round table in a cozy café. The barista placed a tiny cup in front of me, filled with a thick, almost black liquid. Espresso. I picked up the cup, inhaled its bitter aroma, and took a tentative first sip.

Oh my God. It was… overwhelmingly intense. Bitter, scorching, and so concentrated, it felt like pure essence. I decided to drink it slowly, like a fine tea — in tiny sips.

With each successive sip, the bitterness deepened. I could feel my soul trying to flee my body, and my stomach knotting with anxious anticipation. I finished the drink, but its sharp flavor clung stubbornly to my throat, making it hard to breathe.

When I told my brother about it, he practically fell over laughing.

“You tortured yourself, didn’t you?” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Espresso is meant to be drunk quickly — in one or two sips! It’s not tea! Next time, at least read how to drink what you order.”