Coffee Log, Day 247


Coffee: Americano, Caribou Coffee; a blue cup, a burnt roast, a cloudy day.

It was J’s birthday. Well, the celebration anyway, the actual date’s tomorrow. We got together at the Cracker Barrell. There were seven of us. They gave us the round table past the fireplace. It was busy at restaurant, brisk like night air, they had the ceiling fans turning so it mixed up all the smells. I played checkers. I made excuses to keep passing by the fire. J looked happy, I think we all were. It felt like home.

I’m two cups of black coffee, a white plastic plate, the fork with a dish-soap stain, feet under the table knocking wet socks until they’re warm.

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker

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“I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table.” – William Shakespeare, Macbeth


Coffee Log, Day 67


Coffee: House Drip from Cracker Barrel in Burlington, NC; better than it had any excuse to be and a little disappointing because of it – sometimes you drink coffee wanting it to be bad. Hair of the dog and all that.

I ate breakfast in a Cracker Barrel. Three people touched me: my dad when we hugged and shook hands; an old pink yam of a guy at the table beside me when he tapped my shoulder and said “That omelette looks mighty delicious”; and our waitress after the third refill of black coffee.

The night before, I saw friends and slept in a strange bed and listened to a big dog bark occasionally. I’d been drinking champagne and had elaborate dreams of house-sitting.

Now I’m home in Cary. Every spot I’ve been the past couple days has felt like a separate home.

Currently Reading:
The Pardoner’s Tale, by John Wain

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“I’ll drink your champagne. I’ll drink every drop of it, I don’t care if it kills me.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald