Swirls around a stirring stick. Hot steam rises into my eyes.

This will taste the same as the last cup.

Maybe a bit more bitter because it's the end of the night and workers are getting slack.

My usual waitress drops two packets of sugar on my table because she forgot to bring them with my refill.

She's not as attentive today as she usually is.

Outside it's dark. My watch claims it's late.

Sipping the hot brew, I know I should head home.

The coffee tastes like mud.