On my third day, the barista handed me a small card. “Here — buy nine, and your tenth coffee is free. I’ll punch it for you.” She struck the card once with a tiny tool, leaving a single mark. One of ten sacred seals. A quest had been bestowed upon me. I understood at once the weight of what I held. Nine trials stood between me and the Free Coffee. A pilgrimage of devotion. I would walk it with honor. I returned the next day and presented the card with both hands. She punched it. Two of ten. I bowed. She had already moved to the next customer — for she is a keeper of many quests, and grants them to all who are worthy. I will be honest about the trials, for a true account must include hardship. On the fourth seal, she forgot to punch it. I did not correct her. To demand a seal is to dishonor the quest. I drove home one seal short, and told no one. On the sixth seal, I lost the card. I sat in my car in silence for a long while. Then I began again. From one. As a man must. By the ninth seal, I had walked this path for five weeks. My hand trembled as I ordered the tenth. “Alright, that one’s free! Nice, you filled the whole card!” Five weeks. Nine purchases. A card begun, lost, and begun again. All of it — for this. It was the finest coffee I have ever tasted. It was, I should note, the exact same coffee I had bought nine times before. I wept anyway. The man behind me assumed I had received bad news. I let him believe it. She handed me a new card and punched it once. A new quest. Already begun. I keep eleven cards now, in a small wooden box, in order. …I have started a card at a second coffee shop. I do not have the strength to walk two paths at once. But I will not abandon either. A man must honor every seal.