It is a potion for willfulness that I am concocting.
The taste of the filo dough, syrup, rose or orange blossom water lingers long after you’ve eaten it.
After some initial reluctance, I realized that the Buddha might have had a point.
It was called “Barista Bold,” I think.
From that first sip, my world felt full of possibility.
The thought of spending one-third of one’s existence lying on a bed is unbearable to me.
Sometimes you want to go where nobody knows your name but they will write it on a post-it and place it next to your coffee on a neat little shelf.