Yesterday my L.A. friends took me to a “pressed juicery,” where I refused to purchase anything kale. Or anything juice, really. I don’t do juice. They INSISTED I get SOMETHING, and I didn’t want to be rude and close-minded. I craftily noticed, by the grace of god, that they had coffee on the menu, so I conceded to getting that (even though everyone knows, thanks to a meth-like addiction, I only drink Starbucks).

Just now…

Me: “I’ll have the coffee we got yesterday after I go for my morning run.”
Friend: “You mean the juice?”
Me: “No. I got a coffee.”
Friend: “Well, it’s a coffee-juice.”

WHAT.

Point New York.
LA 1, NYC 2