Coffee Log, Day 198

Hi.

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

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Coffee Log, Day 35

Hi.

Coffee: Honduras, Cooperativa Raos; the last cup. I didn’t love this coffee, but I appreciated it. It woke me up. It worked out my pecs, it was hard to grind. A prom date in high school: magically convenient, immediately forgotten.

I didn’t set an alarm so I got up late. 10 am, I shoot for 6. My body thanks me but my head’s fuzz. Lately, life seems to happen in the mornings, drag in the afternoon, and settle at night like a chaser. The strong stuff is up front. Today, I’m sipping a weak cocktail.

Once, on a cruise, I drank pina coladas from dawn to dusk. We stopped at Grand Cayman and Cozumel. The boat was white and so was everyone on it. I got uncomfortable on the islands. Drunk days doing nothing feel a lot more romantic on borrowed blue oceans.

Currently Reading:
Tar Baby, Toni Morrison

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“I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger bowls of champagne and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental and profound.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

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