‘You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it – it’s the only way,’ the French poet Charles Baudelaire wrote. ‘You have to be continually drunk. On wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish.’ Ernest van de Kwast likes to get intoxicated with espresso. He’ll have as many as nine cups a day, from the first one early in the morning till the last one late at night. It stimulates his imagination, makes him lyrical, a little horny even. There’s a ritual to brewing; the grinding of the beans, the steam rising in a delicious cloud. Stopping by trendy cafés, the neon-lit McDonald’s on Coolsingel or a penthouse apartment in the Terraced Tower, high above the river Meuse, Ernest sips, stirs and watches life in Rotterdam go by.
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COFFEE No:
1
Moka Pot – Jan Sonjé street
They can only meet on Monday mornings, when she has the morning off, and he plays truant from work. He keeps longing for these meetings; she keeps dreaming about them. They always start with an espresso from the Moka pot.
He loves to watch her fill the reservoir with water, scoop the ground coffee into the aluminium filter and assemble the octagonal pot. His wife doesn’t like coffee, and doesn’t have her legs. They got to know each other at an athletics meeting his elder son took part in – while his son ran a personal record in the eighty-metre hurdles, he fell in love with a heptathlete. She is eleven years older than his son, eighteen years younger than him.
They meet in her room in Jan Sonjé Street, a street he has never been to before, although he was born and raised in the West End of Rotterdam. He now lives in the borough of Kralingen – in a house with four floors and a long, southeast-facing garden. The flat she shares with another woman is old and dilapidated. The window frames are rotten, the walls are full of cracks and, in winter, she sleeps with a jumper on. He thinks of love as something you don’t need much money for. He has become a romantic again, although he earns 150,000 a year.
The moka pot bubbles, spreading its heavenly scent. If she’ll make espresso tomorrow, the smell will carry her to him, to his ever-restless hands. She has other bed partners – something he doesn’t know, nor cares about – but they are younger and insecure. He is the only one who manages to make her come several times in a row. She already knows that tonight she will have tempestuous dreams – a storm of sex.
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COFFEE No:
2
Coffee Machine – Mcdonald’s, Coolsingel
His mum is Frisian, his dad from Bangladesh. He has his skin colour, her blue eyes. While his classmates work at the supermarket, he has a job at the most beautiful McDonald’s in the world, as the Mei Architects’ building on Coolsingel is described. He has no opinion on the subject though. Sixteen, almost seventeen years old, he works at McDonald’s every Sunday, taking orders and assembling them. He also serves coffee from the coffee machine. It’s just a matter of pressing the right button and waiting.
He likes boys, but his colleagues don’t know this. He did tell his mum, who hugged him. ‘You’ll meet the most wonderful lovers,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘You’ll be very happy.’ Fearing his dad’s reaction, he was relieved to hear him say, ‘Of course, I knew …’. Then they both burst out laughing.
He works mornings at McDonald’s, starting at 9 a.m. During his third shift, he notices the boy who comes in every Sunday at 11 a.m. and orders a cappuccino. His whole body reacted to him, as if a shock went through him. The boy followed his every move, feeling his eyes upon him, his gaze of desire.
His blue eyes are so intense that many people look away from him. They don’t dare look him in the eye, but the boy showed no fear. Lying in bed, he summons the boy, kissing him passionately. He tastes of milk and coffee and a hint of chocolate. Touching himself, he feels his erection, while the boy kisses his neck, sucks his ear. The boy was waiting for him after work and he took him to his house. After he has come, he thinks of Sunday.
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COFFEE No:
3
Mirage Idrocompresso – Hopper
The unwashed, sun-dried, red Amarao Gayo beans are grown in the highlands of Ethiopia, the softness of their flesh absorbed by their kernels. Grinding them results in a sonata of various types of wood and spices: maple, cedar, cinnamon, nutmeg.
She grinds the Ethiopian beans and fills a piston of the Mirage Idrocompresso machine, its pressure varying from nine bar at the beginning to four and a half towards the end of the extraction process. As the espresso gushes into a small cup, she feels the eyes of her new colleague upon her. He stares at her all the time.
It takes thirty-five seconds for the coffee to fill the cup.
Next, she places it on a tray, which he takes to a blonde woman sitting at one of the tables. He smiles at her. A minute later though, he is back at the bar near the espresso machine. She tries to read his gaze. For thirty-five seconds.
Clearing up at the end of their shift, it’s just the two of them left. He cleans the tables, she the bar. ‘Would you like an espresso?’ she asks. He nods. Taking a break, they sit down at one of the tables and, simultaneously sipping their espressos, it’s as if they become intoxicated, drunk on caffeine. She leans across the table, kisses him. His hands slide over her back and buttocks. She moans, wanting him to squeeze the softness of her flesh, and opens the buttons of her blouse. His hands fly to her breasts. They could be seen by passers-by if passers-by looked in, but they don’t see them. Their eyes are closed and they’re a sonata. He tasting cinnamon, she wood.
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COFFEE No:
4
Strietman Ct2 – Terraced Tower
He loves beautiful things. A Polestar 2, a bright-red Vitra sofa, the Frog Table designed by Hella Jongerius. On the kitchen worktop are a CT2 by Strietman and a Weber Workshops grinder. He has neither wife nor children.
When he feels like sex he calls Zoë. She runs a high-end escort service in the city. He has been a regular customer for over ten years, but rarely asks for the same woman more than once. For the past two months he has been living on the top floor of the Terraced Tower. ‘Front-Row Living’ is how the apartments were advertised by the developer. He has a front-row view of the water of the New Meuse and can see all three city bridges. The view is most beautiful in the evening, when the sun sinks behind the port area and the motorway turns into a necklace of white pearls.
The CT2 also sparkles – copper, brass and stainless steel. He doesn’t drink alcohol, preferring espresso or water instead, and stocks nothing else. Most women opt for water. With bubbles.
Sarah (not her real name) wants an espresso. Her heels are nearly four inches high. She is ambitious, and is planning to do an internship at a maritime law firm in the summer. He mentions the name of the firm that bears his surname. Fortunately, she shakes her head and says, ‘Mainport Lawyers’. It’s the competitor.
She likes the espresso so much that she asks for another one. They go outside, to the large terrace overlooking the three bridges. Positioning himself behind her, he hopes she won’t drop the cup.
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COFFEE No:
5
Slow Coffee – Nn De Café
He orders a slow coffee and takes his laptop to one of the high tables, sitting down opposite where she is seated with her laptop. They make eye contact for a moment, but then he concentrates on his work. She glances at his neck, discovers a mole. When she looks up from her screen a little later she notices him looking at her. He smiles and takes a sip of his coffee.
She is a writer, working on her third novel. She likes to work away from home because if she was at home she would get distracted and read or do the laundry. Today, she’s started writing chapter three. Her main character is an adulteress who cheats on her husband with a man she met at the gym, just for sex.
‘He wanted her to sit on his face, over and over again,’ is the last sentence she has written.
The man opposite her is engrossed in his work, but a moment later she feels his foot rest against hers. Neither of them moves. She now feels his calf as well, his warmth through his jeans. Wearing a dress and black, translucent tights, she kicks off her right heel and slowly moves her foot to his crotch. She feels his instant erection and begins to stroke him gently. It takes a very long time and, for a moment, she thinks it’s impossible, but when she sees in his eyes that he’s about to come, she presses harder against his member and speeds up her movements.
Then she slips her foot back into her shoe and continues writing.