I’d often listened to boss go on about the origins of coffee brewing, and he’d talked about the perfection of the dallah, a design unchanged for centuries. The last thing was the best, though: a brass dallah, the traditional Arabic coffee pot. There was a French press, pretty standard, except the glass was cobalt blue, which I’d never seen before. There was a red Fiesta tea pot that would have been pretty if not for the inexpert glue job someone had used to repair it, but maybe I could turn it so the crack wasn’t visible. After we closed and cleaned up and I shooed out my best barista Jade, I opened up the box. The day I emancipated Izzy, in the lull of winter break when the students were mostly gone visiting their families, the boss had left a jumbled box of his latest decorative scroungings, and my job as manager included finding a place to put them. Winter Jinni by Tim Pratt and Heather Shaw
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