You probably can't imagine the joy that a little, unassuming lump like this--blueberry-packed, not-too-sweet, whole-grain-heavy, demerara-sugar-crusted--gives me on mornings when I'm on-the-go.
Add in the smooth-and-chestnutty Brooklyn Roasting Company coffee.
And the dreamy, dimple-flashing, French-accented, wavy-haired, spectacle-wearing man who furnishes me with both.
And you've got an F-train-riding, food memoir-reading, headphone-wearing, Tretorn hightop-tapping, Ebola-ignoring, happy-as-a-clam commuter.