The sun peeps out and nudges the mortals oblivious to the dawn. The human being curses and gets out of bed physically. The soul is firmly attached to the bed, however. The brain is shut down except for a compulsion for its daily elixir.
The Humo-zombie's mind moves towards its gas station. It reaches for a well-worn mug sitting snuggly between the shiny mugs that are never used.
A black tar like liquid, as dark as a soul trickles down into the mug. The human sips it, slowly gaining life. Every sip feels like the fine feeling of experiencing first love.
This nectar of mother earth - coffee.
It is the fuel that keeps the human engine going. Its bitterness waging a war with the bitter thoughts that trouble the human mind and coming out a winner. Every cup of coffee has its own story.
The cup of coffee that adorns the hands of office workers, as they drag their feet to their corporate overlords. The warmth giving them the courage to get through one more day.
The cup of coffee that the new mom hastily makes. She takes two sips and just for a little while, these is an escape from the chaos.
The cup of coffee in the hands of the grandmother as she sits down to reminisce.
The seventh cup of coffee in the hands of the student as it keeps them from succumbing to sleep.
The cup of coffee in your hands as you read about it bringing you deja brew