Damn, But this Coffee is Tasty

Morning comes, and I am sluggish, even though I have slept until 11, except for a brief awakening to feed the cats. A shower doesn't revive me, the Midol is of no help, and I stagger downstairs to consider a trip to the local Starbucks. (More on Starbucks in a tribute the the Evil Empire later.) My roommate suggests that his Folger's brew is available. I demure, since there is no milk. I must have milk. I must have sugar. And for the love of God, I must have espresso, not drip coffee. But desperate times call for desperate measures. In the depth of my cortex, the effort of walking across the street, in the deep summer humidity is valued as not worth the struggle. So a bit of the brew is poured, sugar is added, and a sip is had. At first I have no words to describe it. Tasteless, yet bitter? Harsh yet crappy? No. Nothing. But the factor that starts to chance the balance, that begins to tempt me, is the blood that seems to run afresh through me. Heavens! What is this feeling? Oh caffeine, how I long for thee! I will come to you, no matter what your flavor! Slowly the bitter becomes sweet, as I fall in love, all over again.