By Christopher Munroe
I’ve had three cups today, and I’ll hit Starbucks on the way to work.
Latte, I think. Venti.
There’ll be a pot waiting when I arrive, and when it’s gone I’ll honestly try to remember to start a fresh one. It’s inconsiderate to drink it all without replacing it for my coworkers.
It’s just hard to remember things sometimes. Gets harder every day.
I hate the taste of coffee, it’s like hot tar in my mouth. But I’ll choke back as much as I can.
Because they come when I sleep, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Sunday Prompt Story: Coffee
Labels: 100 words, Coffee, Drabble, Short story, Sleep
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Post a Comment