 My coffee oozes its blackness in the absence of a diluting lactate: a swirling void of color and flavor, a bitter reminder of this time and this place. There is no milk, there is no hope. There is no milk, there is no hope.
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My coffee oozes its blackness in the absence of a diluting lactate: a swirling void of color and flavor, a bitter reminder of this time and this place. There is no milk, there is no hope. There is no milk, there is no hope.
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