“Hey,” I reply when I’m finally upright. Through the door, Jake holds out one of the coffees. “It’s not matcha,” he says reassuringly. “It’s black, and I have sugar packets in my pocket. Unless they exploded ’cause my jeans are too tight, then I just have sugar in my pocket. These pants are clean, though, so we can just like . . .” He mimes emptying his pocket out carefully into a cup and makes a pshhh sound. “A lint latte. Sounds great.” “A lint-te.”
Thjs is the golden retriver bf yall were talking about i see
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