I’ve been overdosing on caffeine this week thanks to the new Starbucks across the street from my office. Last time I was there some assistant managista told me I should try a Clover. I didn’t know if that was a kind of frappuccino or drug code so I ignored him. Then some Russian tourist behind me barks, “The best. Give me the best coffee.” They sold him a Panama Paso Ancho, methodically coaxed into existence on an enormous silver contraption that is apparently called the Clover. Intrigued by the absurd complexity of the machine, I ordered one, too.
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