A cup of water at a rolling boil, a teaspoon of Assam tea leaves, lower the heat, add some milk to temper the theine. No instants for me. Not for chai, not for relationships. The first sip awakens, the second enlivens, the others taste insipid, tepid. Too prosaic, too soon: chai and relationships. I add spices, cinnamon or cardamom, to the chai. It works. For the other thing, I straighten or curl my hair, apply mulberry or cerise lipstick. But he’s set in his manner and in his beverage—coffee, instant. Always black. Always bitter.
Here’s the link to the story.
