In defense of girly coffee drinks
By WILL MARCUS | April 22, 2014I don't think I've ever hugged my grandfather, for he has insisted on shaking my hand ever since I was toddler. I use the word "shake" loosely, in the way a Killer Whale might "shake" a seal before swallowing it. Picture an eagle sinking its formidable talons into the soft, furry body of a confused and terrified field mouse. I vividly remember seeing his hand contort into a terrible claw like appendage, my hand feeling like a raw porterhouse steak between the steel-crunching jaws of a massive crocodile. This happened every time I saw him until I was in my late teens.