The Coffee Narratives (Part 2)

The mistake had been made. He opened his eyes and looked around for the clock. Those two hands would sign to him exactly how foolish his folly had been. Thirty-three minutes! Much too long to have left his precious, black treasure unattended. Without a stretch, he rose from his cotton mistress and stumbled towards the door. On his venture to the door he noticed something. His girlfriend sat smug at her desk, a cup placed tenderly in her hands. No smoke rose from the cup that she held and he knew what this meant for his chances of bitter fulfillment. Her cup had been poured long ago. The heat no longer kept the black coffee mixed with the white creamer. The satisfaction of that first sip into hot bliss had been taken (and many after as well). Clinging to a filament of hope, he forced a bit of words through his dry throat.

“H- How many cups have you had…?” His stomach tightened as he waited for her reply. No answer could instill him with complete assurance that would be desirable. There was a chance at a whit of hope and only that.

“This is my first one. Why?”

There it was. The one answer that he needed to rally the strength in him to continue on with his existence. Besides, what is coffee but a tool used to remind us of our thoughts. Existentialism of the mind. Yes, he would complete his quest. He just knew it. He just had to…

To be continued…

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: