As long as they can make a passable iced latte I don’t care if they roast it in somebody’s basement.

You know, it’s mornings like this I’d like to send our coffee bill directly to Tony Stark.

You’d be hard pressed to find a place around here that DOESN’T roast in their basement. It’s part of the allure, part of the movement or whatever.


[ She makes a vague motion with her hand indicating that she doesn’t care, but the Stark comment is left untouched as they pass through the sleek glass doors. ]


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