Elixir: A Tale

The morning was all wrong; it came in through the window uninvited and drunk with a kazoo in its mouth: "What are you doing here!?" It didn't know. My next thought was to hit snooze - punctuality be damned. It was a case of the dreaded close/open, and I was the very rascal who had scheduled it . When I hit the button that magically grants wishes in 5 minute increments to sleepy people everywhere, I became aware of something: a thirst. Why does whiskey, a liquid, make me soooo thirsty, I thought? No natural spring, hot or cold would do the trick. Then I had a vision; as clear as those people get a week off of work and pay hundreds of dollars to have on some 'quest.' Gears turning blades cutting and fruit exploding; a single word exits my mouth without any goodbyes or introductions: JUICE!

I have always loved orange juice. It's in my native soil. It's in my blood. If my hometown drops below an exact and evil temperature, the entire nation hears about it in the news and the grocery stores. Extra! Extra! California cold! Stockpile fruit!

Here at the Rittenhouse Capogiro, we have this great juicer that makes me feel like a little kid every time someone orders a fresh-squeezed OJ. Reminiscent of one of those kooky gumball machines, the fruit makes a dramatic journey through a labyrinth of slowly rotating circles. Round fruit passes through circles until it evolves and becomes aware - aware that I want to DRINK YOU! Yeah

Shell out a little extra coin than you would in a grocery store and get some. Any thing in a carton has been preserved pasteurized and all kinds of ized. It is dead drink. Our juice is alive! And as I'd earlier alluded to, it has the power to get your ass out of bed.