The Ballad of the Sad Cafe

In Brisbane – and in much of the rest of Australia – people tend to have a “local” when it comes to their coffee. The place that does it better than everywhere else, that will serve you a breakfast that’s just a little bit better than everywhere else, and generally has an atmosphere conducive to spending quality time enjoying said coffee and breakfast.

(There are rumours, in other countries, that cafes serve things like lunch and dinner, but that shit is un-Australian. You go to your cafe for breakfast and coffee dammit)

My local cafe shut down for the holidays. They don’t re-open until after Australia Day.

For weeks now I have ducked across the train tracks just outside my apartment, stumbled the hand-full of meters to my local, and ordered a pretty damn good flat white and an outstanding avocado on toast concoction that came with an assortment of nuts, a whole goddamn spice-rack full of herbs, and tiny, delicious slices of radish.

I am devastated and, quite frankly, in need of coffee.I am tempted to take to the streets, coffee mug in hand, and a sign reading “will write words for caffeination.”