Coffee in a Small Town


I never thought I would say this, but after coming home, I missed things I never noticed before leaving for Akron. I adore the city, but some things, things I hold very dearly, simply do not exist elsewhere. The canons from birds that greet me when I drink my morning cup of coffee or the sparkling stars aflame in the sky, among a bright luscious moon that tries to hide behind towering oak trees every night.

Hell, event he coffee itself tastes different, tasting more robust and an dark-bodied, as though to say, “Yes, ma’am, I am a hard working American; I’ve worked for everything I’ve ever earned and don’t stop ’til the job is done, even if I lose a finger (a minor inconvenience at best, for this breed)”, as opposed to the much more rich and flavorful, practically gourmet, status-revealing coffee ever so present in the city. The people here have forged bonds and community so prevalent, it’s almost tangible. Bonds created by more than proximity, bonds created by family, understanding of one another, and a sense of duty toward fellow men. As much as I love the challenge of becoming more than just a face in the crowd, it never hurts to visit a place where everybody knows your name.


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