November 13, 2013 § Leave a comment

The only subject calling equally frequently for an ode is the sun, and actually, I found that bright orb quite eclipsed after a year in London by: the coffee bean. Dark, hot, bitter-sweet.

How much better does caffeine make the life of Londoners, morning to morning to morning. Medicinal.

The Swedes like it too. Lots, often. Fika. Coffee. Sugar and caffeine in regular kicks.

For London Brits coffee acts as more of a starter, a waking necessity, crutch. Picture the baby with morning bottle. Now, the tube-rider as he/she, suited, emerges from the underground. Coffee in hand. Nothing sexy about that comparison. ‘specially if you opt for a latte.

I do not want alcohol, nor cigarettes — do not want them enough. But coffee. Strong and black and often, with a tall glass of water. On into the night, and push back sleep and shorten my dormant hours. I will write, will read, will consume, will burn with the hot-eyed concentration of the addict/obsessive.

Lubricant of capitalists? drug, fuel, trusted stimulant.


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