As I was approaching the Kolding Caffe this morning, I saw a delivery van pull up by the front door. Two uniformed fellows brought in carts upon carts of bottled drinks in plastic crates and untold aluminum beer kegs, one of which bore the Guinness insignia. This is why I come to the café, too. And then they took away carts upon carts of empty bottles in crates and empty beer kegs. They moved at a clip, but the delivery still took them a quarter of an hour at least. And then one of the waitresses spent a few minutes poring over all the papers the fellows brought with them. When she signed them at last, the van was off. Watching this morning’s delivery from start to finish, I could not but feel awed by our fickle ways. I would not go for any other drink but Guinness. Everyone else who comes to the café is as touchy about their tastes as I am about my own. The bottles, the crates, the kegs, the carts, the delivery crews, the uniforms, the vans, the gas, the roads, the warehouses, the bottling plants, the breweries… Staggering. As well as frail beyond belief. Which is why there is no Guinness in the Kolding Caffe every now and then. Break any link in the overstretched chain, and everything we take for granted falls apart. On a happier note, though, it would take us just a few months to settle for any old drinks. As for me, any decent beer would do. Perhaps I would even feel fortunate to find any at all. The same holds for anyone else, it goes without saying. So, let the chain shrink!