A new article on a surreal visit to a Chinese coffee shop, made even less believable by a brochure gained.
"Experience Mocha!" it demands, and obeisance is mine, weak-willed and supine in the face of advertorial command, a surrendered slave to caffeine's seductive call, writ large as headline on front-of-counter brochure. So experience I do, like there was ever a possibility that I would not, tourist hardly accidental in a franchised coffee shop, Qingdao, China, where an extra-large mocha is served with time and care disproportionate to the value purchased, by staff in Santa hats, seasonal cheer worn yet fitting not here in the decidedly secular People's Republic.
I have lost my will and gained much blood sugar, but still have a semblance of increasingly agitated wits; my attention hyperactive turns in circles to the written instigator of my downfall—counter-side brochure with hypnotic headline I am still chanting inside:
"Experience Mocha... experience mocha..."
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