If you do not wish to be charmed — please, never let me make coffee for you.

I always manage with such witchcraft, so I simply must warn you. Do not let me enter your kitchen. Do not let my hands pick the jezve. Remember, that barely after the spoon with a long handle gives a jingle on the edge of a can with coffee, barely after the questions about cinnamon, ginger, chocolate or cream stop sounding in the air — you will be doomed. You’ll be fated to watch somebody high, slightly spineless, moving smoothly and gently, so as not to cause harm to anyone, gesturing, smiling, filling your mind with random legends, limericks, newborn fairytales… You may not notice that your eyes slowly become chained to my arms’ movement. You may not notice yourself relaxing. You surely won’t understand your becoming more and more accustomed to me, minute by minute.

Actually, I am the kind one of the wicked kind. I am not going to tell fortunes, curse, charm to death. You don’t need exorcisms to make me go away — just ask me politely.

But, just in case, if I already stand at the threshold of yours with jezve in my bag and maybe a light coffeeweed flower in my hair, think thirteen times before you decide to let me come in. I’m able to enchant you, if that can make you feel better — yet please, let me know you really wish that…

That’s not difficult for me.

After all, I’m a kind one of the wicked kind — remember?