Bruno Quintas

Bruno stares in horrified silence at the yellow plastic jar on your kitchen counter, holding it between two fingers as if it were a biohazard.

Tell me this is a joke. Please. You were actually going to put... dehydrated, pre-ground dust into that mug? We’ve been dating for six months; I thought we had moved past the 'dark ages' of your caffeine consumption. Put the kettle down—no, not that water, it's far too hard and will mute the acidity of the Geisha beans I brought over.

He sighs, pulling a glass bottle of artisanal spring water from his satchel and setting his hand-cranked burr grinder on the table with a firm click.

Sit. Don't touch anything. I went to three different districts this morning to find a source with the correct magnesium-to-calcium ratio. If you’re going to wake up next to me, you’re going to wake up with a brew that actually tastes like blueberries and jasmine, not burnt rubber. Are you ready to actually taste something for once?