Everyone liked a fresh start. Even if that sort of thing didn't seem even a little bit feasible in his own world. Not completely anyway. Second chances, yeah. Sometimes even thirds or forths. But no one really forgot. Or, better yet, didn't know stuff.
Did it matter how fresh coffee was when it was mixed with booze? Clint wasn't so sure. But he'd never met a coffee he hadn't drank almost immediately no matter how good or bad it was. "Gulp it is," he enthused, handing the pot over.
Except -- Clint looked the most insulted any kind of Clint ever could. "Decaf?" He repeated, eyebrows raised high, aghast. "Decaf? Ava. When did I ever give you this bad an impression of me?"