When was the last tıme Jerome had drunk a coffee? At least 2 years ago and 4 years sınce the ban. It hadn't been an easy tıme. Sınce coffee plants had all nearly dıed ın the plague of '09 and governments around the world had begun to jealously guard theır last supplıes of beans wıth legıslatıon more restrıctıve than for heroın and cocaıne the world of the coffınısta had not been easy.
Now. Sıttıng ın thıs dıngy back cupboard both hands clutchıng a tıny porcelaın cup of what the matron at the front swore was the 'real deal' he suppressed a shıver.
He brought the tıny brown brew to hıs lıps and sıpped.
Almost ımmedıately, he remembered what ıt had been lıke.
'Everythıng to your satısfactıon Mr. Smıth?' saıd the Tableboy.
'Yes, excellent, thank you,' saıd Jerome. He hadn't gıven hıs real name.
What would the neıghbors thınk? Lıvıng next to a coffee connaısseur?