Earlier this year, I had an interaction at my bagel place that threw me into a bit of an existential vortex. It was a Sunday morning, in that perfect window where winter turns into spring, and I was filling up at the coffee station. Hazelnut—my little Sunday treat. A cloud of sweet steam was rising from my thermos.
“Hazelnut, huh? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a flavored coffee person.”