Sunday, December 17, 2006

Morning Coffee

When I get to work it's about 6:45 or so. The building lights are off. It's dark outside and there are a few elevator lights on.

I can see the commuter traffic outside going at a steady pace. I can hear the HVAC fans kick in as I type this. I hear emergency vehicles screaming outside. I can't see the accident from where I sit. But I see them injecting themselves into the commuter traffic like a needle into a vein. The emergency people that rush to the scene of the accident are like the white corpuscles going after a virus in the blood stream. They rush to the location, treat and bundle the victim and rush off while the clean up crews sweep up the mess. The highways are infected with all kinds of accidents each morning. The emergency crews return the highways back to health. I watch from my eighth floor window while I make my morning coffee.

I have a ritual using Peets coffee. I rinse the pot of the stale brew from the day before. I grind the fresh beans from the fridge, one and a half fills in the grinder. I like it strong. I dump the fine dust from the grinder of Italian Roast into the filter and push the start button. I wait. I listen in expectation of the gurgling noise that comes a few minutes later. It tells me all is right with the morning. The coffee fragrance wafts over the cube walls and entices me to come for a taste. Just one taste. But it always results in more. I can't just have one cup. I need more. More than one. The chocolate colored, thick palpable hot liquid courses through my veins and invigorates my soul. Euphoria has arrived.

And so my stash stays secret, undetected, and undetectable. No one can discover my fridge of flavors, my coffee stash, my euphoria. It remains ensconced somewhere in the Enterprise.

“Sometimes I stay up so late that I have my morning coffee before I go to bed.”