Gourmet Coffee Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

Pedro was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of black coffee in front of him. It wasn't a coffee he was drinking. It was a coffee he was staring at, that he'd been staring at for long minutes, elbows resting on the years-worn oilcloth, chin in one hand. The cup was thick earthenware, an unpretentious model bought in a discount store years ago, and the dark liquid it held had long since lost its steam, forming a thin, almost imperceptible skin on its surface. Pedro stirred the spoon mechanically, creating small whirlpools that dragged that skin into a circular dance, before falling still again. His eyes followed the movement without really seeing it, lost in that inner void where thoughts ci

He bought this book. At the other corner of that street, he saw a café. Different desserts showcased outside at the counter, he can see them through the glass walls. He went inside the café, pushing through the glass door. The entire café smelled like caramels were melting everywhere. He went straight to the counter, looking at the long menu. Scanning every dish, from peanut butter cookie lush, cheesecake trifle, Oreo-chocolate mousse pie, black forest skillet brownie, S’mores Lasagna to cinnamon apple pancakes with vanilla maple syrup and more, also a variety of coffee like latte, espresso, mocha, Americano and also vanilla bean latte, caramel apple macchiato etc. made the list even long. H

I assured her. “I hope you’re not planning to do something stupid” Christine replied as she continued with washing the dishes. It was now night time… Sophie and Johnny had gone back home and Christine was back in her room. I checked if every door was locked then I went straight to my room, jumped on the bed then started going through the counselor’s emails. At the biggening of those many emails there were no suspicious messages. I scrolled for an hour until I came across an email that was written “The coffee shop.” I clicked on the email and read the first line there and it shocked me when I saw that this coffee was the one that I actually knew. The one next to the book store, it was stupid

after sleeping. Gross. “Are you ready Alex? I saw a coffee shop next door; I can grab us some coffees while you finish dressing.” “Yeah, sound’s great. Thanks babe. There’s some change in my wallet, I’ll buy them. Will you get me some food too? I’m starving.” “Sure. Won’t be long.” I grabbed my purse and closed the door behind me. I ran down the stairs, checking my phone for the time. I still had a few minutes before Peter would be here, I had time to run in the coffee shop. I opened the door and smelt the beautiful scent of crushed coffee beans and French pastries. My stomach growled in protest of being starved. I was as hungry as Alex. I ordered a few coffees for us, extra shot of caffein

His slim black tie, patterned cobalt suit, and onyx cufflinks complete the ensemble. "It's okay," Fabiola answers. "We didn't⁠—" "Coffee?" he interrupts, setting his briefcase on the table before grabbing the pot, which none of us have touched yet, off the far counter. Though the basket of individually wrapped muffins and stack of oranges and bananas are tempting, my guts are too unruly to handle food. "These are freshly ground beans from Sea Glass. Amazing stuff, you have to try it." I give Fabiola a squinty glance. She cringes, mouthing, He can be oblivious, sorry, at me. Turning in my chair, I flash a tense smile at Josh.

“I think I got a taste of that this morning. The coffee incident.” Stella winced. “Ah, the coffee. A classic initiation. He’ll do it with the sugar, the temperature, the brand, the mug… he’s got a whole repertoire of ‘coffee tests.’ Just be glad it wasn’t the ‘missing file’ test. That’s when he hides a crucial document and then expects you to produce it on demand, knowing full well you just started.” “That’s… sadistic,” I murmured, thinking of the sheer volume of files I’d just processed. If he’d pulled that stunt on me today, I might have been the one throwing a stapler.

I then went through the files on his table, “This will take long. You can go home if you like” I said to Taylor, but she refused. “I wanna help. What are we looking for?” She asked, “Anything” I didn't know how to tell her. Her dead fiancé was probably a fraud who was leaving what I assumed was a double life. Taylor and I began to look through the files one after another. It was mostly work documents. In one of the notebooks, I found a phone number and tore the paper, putting it in my pocket. In Kelvin's study, I found a photo in one of the drawers,

"One pot of race fuel coming up." Elena walked to the kitchen and reached for her secret stash. She took out a sealed container and popped it open. She then retrieved the bag of Sello Roho coffee and scooped out enough to make a pot of high-octane coffee. Normally this was only available on the streets of Columbia, but she had bought this over the Internet. Starbuck's couldn't even come close to how good this stuff tasted; they were a pale wanna-be compared to this. The Hawaiian stuff she had tried from a friend came close, but this stuff had the caffeine equivalent of a six-pack of Jolt Cola. When the coffee was brewing and Elena was automatically going through her normal breakfast ritual,

The book is yet to happen, I am yet to arrive, wrongs are yet to set themselves right, wounds are yet to be healed. A lot can happen over coffee– the punch-line in the Café Coffee Day counter in the airport was treachery at its best! Nothing had actually happened! After two cappuccinos, the punch-line surfaced as a smirk – “Go, see, feel and touch your genitals while you pee. Nothing else’s really going to happen! It’s your Waiting for Godot moment. So wait.”

Mist clung lazily to the grass, as if the earth hadn’t decided if it wanted to wake up yet. The long wooden table under the open canopy was laid out with campfire-fried potatoes—crispy, golden, kissed by some herb I couldn’t name but loved like sin—along with thick slices of buttered bread, soft scrambled eggs, a few fat sausages, and most importantly, coffee. Sweet, steaming, dark-roast heaven. The kind of coffee that made me forgive people for speaking before I was ready.