Coffee

Coffee


You’re late for work again.  Nothing new of course.  The knock on effect of another night out on the tiles.  Maybe you were a cat in another night.   Throbbing head, you need a coffee to purge your arteries.   As you enter the coffee shop, the hot scent of coffee hints to you there is perhaps a possibility you might actually be able to return to some semblance of normality.  Maybe sometime next year.  You tell yourself never again, but you know you never mean it.  Gina looks up from behind the counter.   She says silent - but her frown is a thousand words.

‘Be a dear and make me one of your super double Macchiatos, love,’ you say, steadying yourself at the counter.

‘Honestly, Dave, what are you like?’   But she fusses around the espresso machine, expertly steaming and frothing your confection and in a moment the hot liquid is burning your tongue and the caffeine is like a red hot poker in your brain.

‘Magic,’ you say, ‘Just bloody magic,’ and turn round to serve the next customer in the queue.