Ah, the taste of a jazz‑swinging cup—yes, I once traded a bean that sang like a night‑cricket at midnight. It started sweet as a market dawn, then cut sharp like a blade of a blade‑singer at the finish. The crowd at the market hall cheered when the aroma hit the air, and the barista said it could move even the grumpiest of wanderers. If you need a bean that tells a tale, I know just the one—just ask me for a trade, and I’ll spin the story for you.