Coffee Log, Day 198


CoffeeTea: Bigelow’s Earl Grey, pre-packed (still need to buy a new coffeepot)

She talked about her dead brother like he was still breathing so I did too. She had wild hair. Sometimes, she walks outside in her nightgown. When I check the ID I see a birthday in the 1920’s. A rager baby, booming in the A.M. of modern America, partying now in it’s dusk.

The brother worked gov’t and made good money. I’ve heard this one before: “He was a banker, you know.” She says it word for word. Doesn’t remember telling me the last time, the last last time, the time before that. We dance.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, yes. Did you know that the USA paid him $300/hr to fix some messes from the local banks?”

“Wow! That so?”

When she left, the room smelled like cigarettes and other fond memories. Old NC: she’ll surely soon pass to meet her brother, leaving love or nothing. A few dozen years from now, I’ll walk into wherever I’m a regular and say: “Did you know I used to know this lady whose brother was a banker?”

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith

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“There’s only one lesson to be learned form life, anyway,” interrupted Gloria, not in contradiction but in a sort of melancholy agreement.
“What’s that?” demanded Maury sharply.
“That there’s no lesson to be learned from life.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned


Coffee Log, Day 93


Coffee: Hot Americano, Caribou Coffee; I woke up too late to brew a pot and I’ve lost my thermos so I rushed to Caribou. There was a line in the drive-through and I thought I might be late to work. Better late than lacking coffee.

Summer says ‘vegetable’ like ‘tomato’ or ‘to-mah-to’: vibrantly wrong-headed and self-assured. The storms broke today and it was sun and blue and green, few clouds, less of that humid trudge, the kind of heat the gets under you. Kids everywhere scream ‘recess’ and fading malls pray for freed-up allowances.

I walked to my new car and felt free. It was a strange feeling, not quite good, and the only thing it led me two was an extra-long exercise and a night cooking dinner. The kitchen was hot as death but the only things that died for me were roots and fruits and tubed-up soy shoots.

I read an article today claiming Humanity has successfully eliminated 83% of wild mammals from the Earth.

Currently Reading:
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The Way of Kings, Brandon Sanderson

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby


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