Tales of a Part-Time Coffee Addict, Part One

It starts in the morning. I mean, it starts with the morning. That’s right.

No. No, that’s not right, either. The morning starts with it. There it is.

The morning starts with it, and no one tells me when enough is enough because there is no such thing. I live my life between addiction and passive interest, and I need no third party telling me when my habit becomes Something More because I don’t care.

There also is no one to tell me such lies. I live alone. Currently. I used to have a roommate, but he left as soon as he realized I didn’t have a life outside the apartment and work. Such is life. Also, I’m not sure how we lived together for those two weeks anyway. He was a slob. I’m a slob, too, but a different kind.

This is off topic. The topic is coffee. Right? Yes. And the morning. Coffee in the morning. And at noon and after noon and in the evening. Whenever I can get it, really, but it starts in the morning.

No, it was… the morning starts with it. There. Now. Mm. Delicious.

fiction prose Writings

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