If I were to tell you I'm a big fan of tea, I'm sure you'd have a very specific image

of me, and I wouldn't blame you.

The vast majority of the time, it's the first thing people tell you about themselves is

tea-related, and they're going to be a little too into tea.

Me, though, I don't know, I'm not a tea guy, I just prefer the atmosphere of a tea house

to a coffee shop, and for some reason I don't really want to discuss, I've spent a lot

of my time in places made for quick meals, Rick, by the way.

This is the city, another sunset, another small town skyline, another bad taste of my

mouth from another job, and they're not only only broken up by stops like this.

This place has character, especially for who gives a shit Michigan.

Tastesful rose, paint, dark oak trim makes the tea house look like a rustic cottage.

The windows are tinted and the interior warmly lit.

I find myself a booth and take a seat, and I overstuffed leather cushion.

The table's immaculate, and the smell of fresh, big goods is thick enough, it drowns

out the lingering scent of gasoline and smoke from my nostrils.

I predict beautiful tea and ugly prices, and when I'm brought on menu, I'm not disappointed.

The waitress seems to linger for a moment, expectant, I assume the place has a small circle

of regulars, pay it no mind.

If I were a tea guy, I'd bore the hell out of you, a rant about this election, thankfully

for you folks, not the type to overshare, bad for business.

For those of you in the know though, there's a beautiful selection of northern England's

finest, with a few blends I've never heard of from Holland.

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