Pistachio

I love pistachio ice cream.

On the day before my birthday of 2022, I ate a Yummy Meat pizza at the pizzeria, and at the cafe, I drank a glass of black iced tea and I tried a cup of pistachio latte with oat milk. I told the Vietnamese barista Jessica there that I could really taste the pistachio in it.

In the sunny afternoon of the 21st of January of 2022, I ate two pizzas at the pizzeria, and at the cafe, I drank a pistachio latte with oat milk. There, a hunky man came in, wearing a black baseball cap, a grey hooded jacket, and beige shorts.

In the morning of the 21st of February of 2022, on my way to the pizzeria, I saw a thickset bearded man in black, as he pumped a tire of his car at the gas station. At the cafe, there were brown men. I drank a cold pistachio latte using oat milk.

Today, the 18th of February of 2025, I go walking to Tim Hortons several times during the grey-sky day. I drink White Chocolate Pistachio Oat Milk Latte, cold, twice. Yesterday was the first time that I drank it. Yesterday was a day with Latinos: In the afternoon, there was a handsome round-faced mestizo: Caucasoid and Amerindian. He reminded me of myself, like a mirror image. He seemed to interest himself in Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish. He was fiddling with his smartphone. We smiled at each other without talking, as if he did not want to speak English with me. Last night, there was a younger Latino with a Latina, talking at a table next to mine. The man mentioned an Esperanto word, "Nikaragvo" (Nicaragua), to which I obliquely replied with "Gvatemalo" (Guatemala). I sensed that he interested himself in Esperanto and Lojban, from the way he was talking to the woman.