H20: Chapter 3 Preview...

In celebration of H2O the Novel appearing on Kindle , I'd like to post a preview of Chapter 3 for your perusal! Hope you enjoy it - let me know what you think in the comments below...

Chapter Three

My third obsession is coffee. Excellent, top-flight, expensive imported coffee. Nothing by Juan Valdez and his scabby donkey. I go for the award winners like Kenya “AA” Gachatha and the famous Kenyan “black currant.” Panama Elida or Sumatra Lintong. Starbucks might satisfy the “unwashed masses,” but for me, it just won’t do. I seek out real baristas and strong drink. Some people indulge in caviar, others in diamonds. I prefer black gold laced with caffeine.

Right up there with coffee is something to do while I’m drinking it. My e-mail is inextricably linked to a cup of the finest java that money can buy. I’ve conditioned myself to read messages only if I have a hot cup of joe in my hand, and lately I find that e-mail and the office just don’t mix. The coffee reeks at work, disgusting brown tripe that my office mates load up with artificial creamer in carcinogenic Styrofoam cups.

E-mail consumes your life, so you may as well enjoy yourself while dealing with the drudgery of electronic messages. I do both at ISIP, where they serve up the best coffee in the world, and the fastest Wi-Fi in Seattle. It’s the perfect business combination—Kenyan java and ripping-fast Internet. Hiram Berry started this place for coffee snobs like me who can afford a five-dollar cup and come back often for half-price refills. But at that price, his place didn’t really catch on until he went wireless. Now Starbucks is racing to catch up with the digital end of his business. The coffee competition may have gotten their start in Seattle, but compared to Hiram’s magic, Starbucks and Seattle’s Best will never quite measure up.

ISIP sits in a confusing little building in an equally confusing triangular block at the intersections of Taylor, Fifth Avenue, and Vine. With all the one-way streets and crazy traffic flow, you’d miss this place if your nose clogged up and you didn’t smell the roast. I caught a whiff one pre-dawn morning months ago while tooling through Seattle on my Ice Rocket. I can smell a quality Kenyan roast a block away, and I followed my nose all the way from downtown to that little shop, traveling on foot after I’d secured my bike at the garage.

ISIP is an odd acronym for a coffee shop, but I like it. Someone told me that “the brew there is so hot that I sip it.” Thus, “ISIP.” But I suspected there was more to the story. I dropped off a case of ice-cold Rising Moon Spring Ale at Hiram’s place one day, determined to figure out why he’d named my favorite coffee shop something so nebulous. He craves beer like I crave espresso, and curiosity was about to kill my cat.
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