There was more feeling found in the warmth of the paper cup filled with hot apple cider than there was in the entire coffee shop. He held the white container with two hands, delicately, as if it were pristine, holy, relishing the heat. Slowly, gingerly he raised the cup to his lips. The smell was inviting and he inhaled deeply, letting the cider intoxicate his senses with spice. His eyes watered and he wanted to cough but continued breathing. He wanted to believe it was more than just cider. He needed to believe it was more than just cider.
Simple sinful pleasures.