Waiting For The Coffee To Brew

The white noise from the kitchen fan makes me feel as if I am operating within a dream even as I measure coffee, scramble eggs, oversee bacon.

Everything is light and shadow, formless and shifting, is any of this real?

Part of me hopes it isn’t, just for the sake of philosophy and art. Yet somehow getting the ratio of coffee beans to water just right seems to matter a whole lot. Or maybe I just want it to.

Wouldn’t it be a kick if this were all a dream?


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