I would describe the shop as “trendy but woody.” I would imagine that the majority of people who Unlike some other shops around Philadelphia such as Elixr, the interior of Black Sheep had been decorated with rather light toners of wood with colorful graffiti portraits throughout the stone walls and wooden furniture. The chairs on which I am sitting is composed of a flat wooden circle with a couple of thin metal parts propping it up.

I ordered an Arabica blend from Papa New Guinea. The initial hit had been quite bright, but after I became acquainted with the initial taste, the fruity tones settled across the sides of my mouth, leaving the aroma of blueberry and blackberry in my mouth by the time that my gulp had settled down my throat. It was the first coffee that I have had in awhile, as I have been drinking tea made in my flat for the past couple of months. It was quite a refresh of the life that I had left behind.

Some people are talking about Brexit besides me. I probably should care about Brexit since I am here in the UK during Brexit negotiations. It is also a world event that has continuous headlines in the Wall Street Journal every now and then. But, for some reason, I just don’t care, and I can’t convince myself to feel bad about that.

A couple of days later, I ordered an Ethiopian blend that supposedly had the same fruity tones, but I was unable to perceive them. It is in these moments I come to realize that there are limitations to my abilities to taste coffee. Or, perhaps, there is nothing to taste at all. It would seem that I am approaching the limits of subjective truth. Without the ability to perceive objective truth, I am at the limits of my existence as a mortal being.

While I sit here writing my essay on love, death, and violence in Romeo and Juliet, which encompasses almost all the topics in literature that I care about, I listen to the deep house track that plays in the background. Some conversations buzzed besides me. Some people in suits. The smell of cheese in the air. The window blowing from the glass door opened to my right. The loud whopping of two police sirens fading as quickly as they appeared. Life.

The counter had been littered also with a various bottles of alcohol, as the coffee shop converts into a bar at night. I appreciated the vibe — a space to serve coffee that turned into space to serve alcohol, if the integrity of the functionality of a coffee shop is maintained. I suppose it is quite a vibe — a coffee shop that turned into a bar at night. I wonder if there is anything quite the same in Philadelphia, which I have come to miss a bit by now.

Conspicuously littered across the entrance was a phrase, ‘#LEAVETHEHERD’. I suppose it really does justice to its name.