After lying down for 12 hours contemplating the very nature of existence, I have awoken this morning to discover that not only has Jonah Hill acknowledged the existence of the remarkable photo of him snapped mid-coffee drop, but that he’s also remarkably zen about the entire ordeal.
Yesterday we uncovered a perfectly-timed snap of Hill in the exact moment after he dropped a full coffee, but before he realised what had happened.
The photo is perfect, and a disaster. Simultaneously serene and violent. An ordinary moment agonisingly suspended infinitely.
That’s not even a full second before his day turns to utter shit. It’s remarkable.
Hill, now, has not only acknowledged the existence of the photo itself, but has selflessly pointed out the fact that everyone has is completely ignoring the real victim in this tragedy: the coffee.
On Instagram earlier today, Jonah mourned the loss of the bean, and eulogised their brief but spectacular time together.
“The internet has been very interested in this photo of me dropping my coffee. But we’re all forgetting the real tragedy here. We’re forgetting to mourn this coffee. I didn’t know it long but damn was our time together special. As fleeting as it was. I’ll never forget you.”
And true enough, we have overlooked the coffee. The dearly departed drink. The tannin tango, forever silent.
By any estimation a normal coffee, not at all unlike any other. But now, and forever, it shall be known as Jonah’s Spill. A legend that, in death will live forever.
So it goes.