A caffeine dream.
When I was a teenager, I landed my first-ever job as a barista at a busy chain coffee shop in the heart of New York. When I didn’t have my nose in the books at school, I’d spend hours making all manner of drinks for the city’s thirsty clientele. It was daunting work — customers expected to get their drinks fast, and the surplus of orders during the morning and midday rushes could get downright brutal. I’d emerge at the end of each shift, clothes and hands reeking of coffee grounds, and command my aching feet to take me to class or back to my apartment.
I absolutely loved it.
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