His dark secret wasn’t that he disliked coffee. Nor was his dark secret the revelation about how broke he was, or how he collected cans and bottles from the streets and did odd jobs to have the money to buy a four-shot mocha at the coffee shop every day.
His dark secret wasn’t that how he worked for the money and spent it on coffee every day because he liked flirting with the young women who worked behind the counter. Neither was his dark secret his admission that his coffee shop visit was his day’s only highlight, and he looked forward to it each morning. No, his dark secret, that he didn’t share even with himself, was that they were the only friends he had.