could only blame the trivialities. For Roy held the trivial in contempt.
He believed that the simple was beautiful, and the beautiful true. The
fact that he only sold one type of coffee, served one way, was a natural
projection of this belief. But, alas, he could not help himself. Sisyphus
had to move his rocks around, and so Roy also had to set out one day,
trawling for the ideal coffee cups.
It had come to him in a vision that the ideal vessel for coffee
would be a ceramic snifter. Since a snifter intensified the aroma of
cognac and therefore enhanced its taste, he wondered if coffee might
be more fully enjoyed if imbibed this way. Plus, it would offer the
bean the special dignity it had lost since the time of its first
introduction to Europe. Certainly, coffee had made enormous strides
in the previous decade, but it still had a way to go to regain its former
glory, when it was considered the most magnificent beverage in all of
Europe and Arabia.
Unfortunately for Roy, there was not and apparently had never
been a such thing as a ceramic snifter. He was walking dejectedly out
of yet another home furnishings store when he noticed a very dirty
human being dressed in rags placing something on the windshield of
the Undergrounds van. As he drew near, the man ran away. Roy
could see that he had affixed a pink flyer meant to look exactly like a
parking ticket, designed with the interest of scaring the hell out of the
car’s owner and forcing him or her to review what was really an ad for
some weight-loss cream or auto insurance. As if you could forgive
their deceit. Roy shook his head at the retreating mendicant and
pulled the paper off of the windshield.
He examined it closely. It really was a parking ticket.
Was the police department hiring vagrants to do their job for
them? Roy looked over at the meter, which had indeed expired, and
placed the ticket in his shirt pocket. Had the homeless been
deputized? It actually did not seem to Roy like such a bad idea. The
parking problem was getting out of hand.
Loath to incur any additional debt, Roy intended to send the
ticket off at once. Or he would have, but he saw that the address on
the ticket indicated that the issuing police station was only a few
blocks away. He’d save the cost of a stamp and take a stroll down the
street. Moreover, it behooved him to touch base with the local
authorities, make a little chit-chat with the cops. Cops were notorious
coffeehouse idlers. He brought a stack of coupons with him.
Arriving in front of the brightly painted edifice, he checked and
ABYSSINIA
30
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