A small room.
A long obsession.
Marvel Comics started as a one-shelf experiment: a roaster from Yirgacheffe, a borrowed grinder, and a stack of comics on the windowsill that turned the whole place a particular shade of late-afternoon yellow.
Five years on we curate gear and beans with the same patience we'd give a long-running serial — every issue earns its slot, every supplier earns its place on the page.
Run by humans, photographed in natural light, packed by hand, and shipped from a tall room with very good acoustics.
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