Some days are a cloud aloft in transition, slowly creeping towards the next distant horizon. A vague point appears peering like a faint beacon. This is your goal. Munch on a little snack. Have an espresso. Talk about how tired you feel. Get some support. Be one with the countertop. Rest, fart, moan and distress on and on about how it’s unfair of the rain, and oh, the rain.
Perfect time in my opinion for another espresso. I look at the machine, shiny and familiar, sitting, watching, and waiting. The hopper is full. The coffee smells like caramel dirt.
“Push it Joe. Push the button.” I push the button. Screeching, numbing, pulsing, radiating, aching balding head. I dose, skimming the excess grounds off the top. I tamp; north, south east, west, center. Appropriate water temperature, correct grind, suitable tamp, acceptable cup, proper time criteria. The golden brown color of the cream works. The body is syrupy, the taste sweet and nutty. The aroma, deep and intoxicating. The day…a little better.
2 comments:
Joe - you should maybe be a writer. this is pure poetry. -- a fan
You are too much... I am working in this cube until 7am and could really use a shot of espresso at the moment...
Post a Comment