MONKEY

Marcus had always considered himself a man of refined tastes—organic meals, artisan coffee, vinyl jazz, and obscure literature. A minimalist by choice and a maximalist in opinion, he walked through life with the air of someone who had seen the invisible strings that held the world together. In his loft apartment, he’d spend hours curating playlists that no one asked for, penning reviews of Scandinavian furniture that no one read, and perfecting his frown of disappointed enlightenment.

Enter Kevin.

Kevin was loud. Kevin wore neon tank tops in winter. Kevin believed cheese-filled crusts were the pinnacle of culinary evolution. He said things like “YOLO” in a tone that suggested he truly believed it was still 2012. Most grievously, Kevin had recently been appointed the head of product innovation at the company Marcus worked for.

Their first clash happened over tea.

Marcus had spent weeks perfecting a line of specialty herbal teas—organic ginger, wild turmeric, and a whisper of dried mandarin peels, all ethically sourced, naturally. He presented it with the enthusiasm of a man revealing the formula to cold fusion.

Kevin took a sip, winced, and said, “Tastes like spicy water. Can we make one that turns your tongue blue?”

Marcus blinked. Blue. Tongue. Water. He looked at Kevin like one might regard a pigeon attempting to play chess.

“But it’s ginger—aged for weeks in Himalayan air. It’s supposed to feel earthy and grounding,” Marcus said, trying not to sound desperate.

Kevin nodded. “Cool. But imagine—BLUE. Kids would love it. Adults too. Instagram eats that stuff up.”

Marcus aged ten years in that moment.

In the weeks that followed, Kevin continued to desecrate Marcus’s holy grail of refined innovation. The ethically-sourced teas were replaced by a range called “ZAP!”—flavors included Electric Watermelon, Alien Apple, and something called “Mouth Volcano” which was just absurd amounts of cinnamon and food coloring.

Sales exploded.

Marcus watched, aghast, as people gleefully bought packs of ZAP!, posted selfies with blue tongues, and left five-star reviews with comments like “Tastes like a rollercoaster in my mouth!”

He tried one in secret. His tongue turned blue. His soul turned grey.

In the company newsletter, Kevin was hailed as the "Flavor Visionary of the Year." He gave interviews about "breaking boundaries" and "listening to the market." Marcus sat in the back, sipping a carefully steeped cup of his original blend, its aroma soft and mysterious like rain on ancient stone.

Nobody noticed.

The ginger in his cup sang of distant lands, of roots that had fought through soil and stone to find their place in the sun. It was a taste that whispered secrets.

But the world was shouting.

In that moment, Marcus understood: the world had given the monkey a throne, and the monkey was painting it neon green. And maybe, just maybe, the monkey would win—because blue tongues got more likes than wise ones.

So, he closed his laptop, folded his ideas, and walked out into the evening fog—ginger on his breath, irony in his heart.