“There is just something about coffee, the looks and feel of it, it’s just, well, great!” Gun Roswell

Coffee close-up

The freshly poured coffee in the cup, the aroma swirling mid air, and the powerful smells reaching my nose as I needed my dose. This was not fair as there was a note on the side of it, stating in read and bold letters; “Do not touch!”

But it kept in taunting me, why oh why was someone doing this to me!? Why was I not allowed to touch that one thing, which made my hearts sing and wanting to dance and prance and shout out loud about after first sting?

Who on Earth could have done such a terrible deed to this coffee addict of a creep like myself who could never function properly, without my daily fix of the most finest invention of all time. That one and only thing making me smile after a cup or few in the early morning hours?

I stood there, unbelieving for a moment longer than I should. Lingering, hovering over the sweet sweet juice I had been denied and that it when I did decide. No matter what, nobody could stand between me and my coffee. After a quick glance to each direction, I grabbed the cup, took a sip and another and then, I felt like me again.

I waited for someone to turn up with a huff and a puff. Alas, no one did and then I remembered a blurry hazy state I had been in during the night and the warning made much more sense now. It was me, myself who had wandered off in the middle of the night and written those horrible words. As to the why I was still uncertain, but boy, had I been off!

Tossing the note aside, I kept on slurping my reward oh so fine.