Dear River,

Fuck me - are you for real? The aeropress, the V60, the Smeg, and the plunger? You don't do things by halves, do you? It's all or nothing with you isn't it, a bit like how the stereo is either on with the volume on 11, or it's unplugged from the wall and you're shouting at me for playing Motorhead on a Saturday morning at a perfectly reasonable hour. Oh, by the way, it is so good to come home and not have to listen to rolling om's and mantras because your cortisol levels are up because someone looked at you funny.

You can have all the coffee shit, by the way. It's not as I can't pick up an aeropress from the roasters when it opens in the morning, picking myself up a proper cap and not being embarrassed by asking if they have coconut milk for your fucking latte when you know full well they only have almond and soy. Oh yes, and that embarrassing time when you had a go at the barista because they only had Aldi soy and you got your internal judgey clipboard out and said if you wanted an Aldi soy milk coffee you'd make one at home.

I'm really looking forward to making a coffee with out having to make one for you and have to remake it because it's too hot, too cold, too strong, too weak, too milky or it's in the wrong cup.

So screw you, you can have it all - I was thinking of giving up coffee anyway.

Have a nice life.

Love, J.

Joe,

They were my coffee makers, you entitled twat.

I'm looking forward to playing mantras at 11 whenever I like, and can't wait to have coffee just the way I like it without some dick rolling his eyes because he thinks I should behave a particular way.

Oh, and Lemmy is dead, your music sucks, and I hated the way you made coffee anyway. Weak cappuccino with extra chocolate? I should have known.

RF.

This is written in response to Cinnamon Cup Coffee's #spillthebeans challenge where I have to write an imaginary letter from my ex after stealing all the coffee making stuff from his house. Image by me and Midjourney.