What’s your favourite kind of coffee? The kind that gently wakes the world around you in the early hours of the morning. Or the kind that lingers slowly against the tongue late at night, long after the day should’ve ended? Maybe both. A beginning and an ending poured into the same cup. This little shop of mine usually closes around now. The scent of roasted beans and steamed milk still hanging quietly in the air. Like the final pages of a long day. Then there’s a knock against the window. Someone asking if we’re closed. We are. But the machines are still warm. The grinders haven’t gone silent yet. And the rain outside looks far too cold to turn someone away. So I unlock the door and let her in for one final cup. Though truthfully. I already know exactly who she is. And I know what she's up to.