I’m back on Eastlake, back at that coffee shop. There’s a crowd in the back gathered around a table. The table is covered in glasses of coffee, bowls of dark roasted beans, and a variety of coffee accessories. It’s a coffee tasting. The tasters slurp frequent sloppy spoonfuls of dark coffee. After each slurp, the taster stops and freezes his facial expression while he tries to measure his reaction to the latest vintage.