He looked toward the ceiling, losing himself in a memory as I drew his blood. ‘I miss my father making it in the mornings when I lived at home. Everybody else drank it – my mother, my brothers. I don’t miss drinking it. I miss it being around. I miss the sorts of gatherings that call for coffee.’ He was quiet for a moment, then glanced at the monitor I’d plugged his sample into. ‘All good?’ — 36: 511-514