(un)inspirational coffee dregs

There’s nothing nice about drinking coffee

while sitting in front of a screen on a Friday night—

alone

listening to drunk neighbors laugh over loud music,

and wondering when I’ll get some sleep because it kind of sucks to be–

awake

while trying to find something incredibly brilliant to say

about Hemingway and (anti)-heroes. It’s like a–

flash

back to the same old routine from those high school

days and nights where I’d do everything else but my work and be–

loud

like these neighbors who bang. bang. bang. on the walls as if they

want to escape the routine and the boredom, too. And I–

wish

they’d invite me over so I can confidently tell them (behind my glasses)

that “I’m too busy getting my work done, no–

thanks.

I’d rather stay home.” sipping on cold bittersweet coffee between

four. white. walls. like. sudden. death. from–

pride.

Someone once told me to flip my coffee cup over

and let the dregs of turkish coffee speak to me and then–

write.

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2 thoughts on “(un)inspirational coffee dregs

  1. Hemingway will inspire you soon enough.
    PS If Turkish coffee does not do the trick, Colombian coffee would love to have you back.

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