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It’s eight in the morning and you can barely keep your eyes open, much less engage in the activities that constitute productive participation in the glorious neoliberal machinery of our economy. Maybe it’s because of the sleep you gave up to spend hours gazing through a rectangular portal into a glowing, bottomless pit you were lured into by the entrails of your own teased apart tastes and beliefs, or because you slept on your friend’s waveform of a sofa while your slightly cooler-than-you-can-afford apartment played host to European Airbnb users.
It’s not like the particulars matter all that much, anyway, since you can’t recall all of them through the haze of drowsiness. At this point you could, as more than half of all American adults do on a daily basis, drink a cup of coffee to stave off the fog of imminent unconsciousness. After all, you love coffee. And not just because of the caffeine. But have you really thought it all through?
Sure, just the other day, you bought some incredible single-origin nanolot coffee beans, and that half-pound bag cost as much as two, maybe three avocado toasts. In fact, you bought enough to keep some at home and at work. It’s a legit varietal, like Gesha or Bourbon, from a remarkable local roaster who operates quasi-legally out of a sick loft and specializes in light—but not too light!—roasts, a respectful homage to modern Scandinavian coffee that lets you really get a sense of the bean’s terroir, down to the GPS coordinates where it was discovered during an expedition into coffee country led by a white man of great taste, and the barista said that the acidity from this coffee is “really wonderful and fruit-forward, like Hawaiian Punch micro-dosed with LSD.”
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James' World 2 
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