Mon amour

Yes. That much I love coffee. Just walked 4 blocks in the killing humid heat to get a coffee.Hot coffee. Real coffee.French.
Don't get me wrong, there is coffee everywhere in New York. Americana. Watery.Iced.
I drink it if I have to. Running coffee makes life sprint. Fast coffee for everyone. That's coffee in America - a drink more common than water with an over roasted caffeine diluted milk taste that's so sweet it might wake you up.For about one or two hours.By that time, you need your second gallon of diluted sweet coffee not because you miss the caffeine but because the sugar calls you back where you belong, in the "Slave for Sweet" land.
Now, where I come from, coffee takes a little bit more time to do, a whole lot of time to drink and it makes life flow easily, carelessly, creamily...
That's why I went for real coffee to the french coffee shop, where the french guy that makes my cappuccino knows almost no English but he makes a tiny cup of creamy wonder that contains about thirty minutes of my personal happiness. I do not have money for his tip - they make expensive things, this French magicians- but I have my amazingly broken French in the pocket.
I tell him how my boyfriend lately spoils me with French music in the car when we return from work on Friday nights. I tell him about Charles Aznavour and Mireille Mathieu and Notre Damme de Paris musical.He's young. He might not know any of these.
I get a feeling that I would really seem annoying to him if we were in Paris in the same circumstances but here he smiles a wide smile of gratitude. He says "Thank you" I say "Merci".
Coffee beats globalization!