I don’t drink coffee. In fact I have said on this blog before that I love tea. Big time. But I don’t feel the need to walk the streets holding a cup of it all the time. I like it at home, in a mug, sometimes with a biscuit. Nothing fancy. But here, my goodness holding a styrofoam or some other kind of cup, it’s like a fashion accessory. I was in the 42nd Street area earlier today, this is the busy bit around Grand Central Station, and I think that pretty much every person I went by was clutching a cup from all manner of places, slurping or just holding it like a talisman. It’s encouraged: the small silver coloured carts sit on most street corners dispensing drinks for a bit over a dollar and a range of artery hardening sugary snacks to boost the energy levels. They are cheap. Very cheap. But gone by midday to be replaced by the hot food vendors: caveat emptor, that’s all I can say about that. So off I go to my 10am appointment and I am strangely driven to go into one of the many food places that will make the enormous bagels (blogs passim), get a cup of tea, English Breakfast, black, and clutch it hoping some of the magic will rub off on me too.