Living so far from his family's homeland of the northern tundra, Hock always found an excuse to share his grandmother's recipe for boar butter tea with friends. It was always a hit with denizens of the deep woods (they never ate enough butter).

Tiny ink sketches I've been doing for a local cafe. ✨☕🍵

The apartment was silent as he slipped in. He could have sworn she would have been here at this time. It was the cup on the table that gave him a clue; fresh coffee. She could not have gone far.

Drawn by me! (x)

Upon closer examination, the steaming cup sign had a definite front side and I hung that facing out. The single shelf was another thrift find earlier this summer. The tea station is ready and waiting.

“Don’t Cry Over Split Beans”