Well, the day has been a bust, coffeically speaking. Now the time had come to head to the Via Rail station and home.

    We meandered up to the virtually deserted platform. The summer evening was far from uncomfortable, but you must rememeber that we are rail-travel virgins so curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to enter the station to check things out.

    A spartan decorative flair that only a government worker could have dreamt up. We head for the uncomfortable looking beige-ish benches and have a seat. I begin to scan the environment. Maybe it's the caffeine, but I tend toward paranoia as a natural state, so I begin my usual search for security and surveillance equipment in the station. I am surprised to find no obvious cameras in here. Not even the lonely ticket-agents booth seems monitored. I guess he's expendable.

My sweep continues until...

    It stands there like the Monolith from 2001. A throw-back to some other decade. It mocks me. Try a cup of delicious coffee, space-monkey! Just deposit 75 cents into my coin slot and it can be yours.

    I cautiously approach the thing. It is an intimidating beast; all aluminum and sim-wood paneling. Its dust-laden plexiglass front promises roasted beans and steaming java. Choices abound for cream and sugar, decaf or black. I know it is a risk, but I haven't had a cup for at least 2 hours. I lick my lips. My hand decends into the depths of my pocket, seeking coin. My eyes never leave the faded sign.

    It swallows the currency with a mechanical gulp and awaits my selection. Regular. Ker-chunk! A paper cup spits crookedly into its recessed cradle. Perfectly calculated quantities of black and white liquid spurt into the cup in a swirling dance. The cup has settled. It is over in seconds.

    My shaking hand reaches out to grasp the cardboard vessel and carry it on its voyage to my awaiting lips. It's hot. It's scary. It tastes like dirt mixed with thin powdered milk. I shudder. Pajavagirl's evil laughter can be heard echoing through the empty station. We both knew what the output of the ancient machine would be like. But I had to try it.

    I finished the foul thing as our train pulled into the station outside. Yes, I finished it anyway despite it's un-coffee-like nature. It actually wasn't the worst cup I'd ever had. That record was still held by the old McDonald's hell-juice.

Yep, I've tried them all. I always have been a bit of a maschochist.

Next: Manhattan's Finest