You used to come in all the time for a large dark roast and chatting with you over the counter was by far the best part of my job. Despite how much I dug your style (and rad facial hair choices) I never got the up the courage to do more than flirt (poorly) over the counter. The other girls found this endlessly entertaining and I never heard the end of it when I confessed how into you I was. By the time I'd worked up the guts to ask you out, you'd stopped coming in. We could go for beers and listen to bands that haven't been invented yet. Or whatever.