I make my way to my writing nook thon wan (today’s), lost in thought: story ideas peculate; plot points gently play out.
Ice coffee is at the end of my walk, but a street vendor’s wares tempt me: the rich taste of Thai coffee is too much to pass up. I order, then watch as hot water passes through the grounds-full mesh bag, condensed milk stirred in thoroughly, poured over ice. My imagination already has me salivating.
A sip, a sigh, a thank you.
The walk from this point on is less hot, less dusty, much more tasty.
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