It’s a well-known fact that anyone catching an early train desperately needs a great cup of coffee. So there I was, tired and barely awake, stepping off at Southern Cross. Not everyone was happy about the early hour—especially those still buried under their blankets. My feet, moving on their own accord, carried me toward the towering glass and steel of Collins Square when something extraordinary happened. A scent—a divine blend of roasted beans—wafted through the air like a caffeinated guide, pulling me past other coffee spots, confused travelers, and tired pastry stands, through revolving doors smudged with fingerprints. At 1MQ, I found it: Peddler Espresso. Not some pretentious café with p...
