A coffee so rich it reminds you of cigarettes.

I'm not talking about cheap cigarettes. I'm talking about the ones in the gold packet that your ex used to buy for you. The one's you have on special occasions or when you're feeling sad and can afford them.
The coffee doesn't taste like cigarettes, of course. But the taste is so strong; you can taste the beans in it. Not like the instant crap you have at work. It's just like the first drag of those cigarettes that tasted so much better but you could barely afford.
It transports you to where you want to be. For me, it's sitting in a rooftop garden on top of your little city apartment. There's no work tomorrow, there's no commitments, and there's no worries. It's dark, apart from the lights of the city that bounce off the river and play with the moon in it's reflection. The air is slightly chilly. You don't need a coat, but your favourite thick-knit jumper is keeping you toasty. There's some 80's rock power ballads playing faintly in the background because you've left the record playing inside. It mixes in with a few faint sirens but not loud enough to distract you from the thought that you've finally made it. You're where you want to be. You stopped letting things get in the way. You take a deep breath in and fill your lungs with the sharp, cold air before your friends come out to join you. You wouldn't be where you are now without them. How corny, but it's true. They stood the test of time.
And of course, you're drinking the most perfectly rich coffee and smoking the cigarettes from the gold packet. Not the same kind your ex used to buy you, though.