I don’t know why, especially since I’m shoving fistfuls of money into Moscow’s “Starbaks” every day, but I miss InHouse. Maybe it’s the pretention and showing off that seems to be everywhere else in Moscow except Starbucks. Or I miss my seat at the end of the counter. What good times we had, me and that chair. Except when the sun shone through the front door making my skin melt, even if it was only 20/25 outside.