You brought flavor and spunk to so many lives. In their time of need, you were able to help those on the brink of sleep deprivation or those with an extreme lack of sobriety. When I held you in my hands, my fingers wrapped around your handle for the last time, I felt your intentions so pure and simple...that's when you fell, committing suicide on Jimmy's floor - sacrificing a fresh cup of venetian dark roast so as to 'go out with a bang.' As I looked down at my feet, your broken body scattered between caffeinated splatter with part of your handle still clenched between white knuckles, all I could think was 'we had a good run...a good run, indeed.' Farewell Gourmet Ground...rest in peace.
Oh my God, Grant--I read the title, saw the photo and thought that YOU had left us for a moment. Whew. Someday I know I will lose my "Never mind the Bullocks here's the SEX PISTOLS" mug (at my side as I type this now) and it too will be a sad, sad occasion.
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