i am more of a devotee, than an addict when it comes to coffee.. or at least that’s what i tell myself 4 or five cups into the day.. when i’ve consumed more coffee than both water and food combined. i remember reading somewhere that the European Renaissance began in part, because of the solely creative affect of the newly introduced coffee bean, imported from the orient..or wherever it was. but wasn’t everywhere that held people of least one shade darker skin tone than the average European considered the “orient” back then..?
Thoreau bashes on his neighbors’s stupidity in “Walden” when describing the work necessary to provide enough money for the highly expensive imported coffee…that his neighbor(whom we guess, had not been introduced to the early eastern forms of voluntary aestheticism) deemed a daily necessity.
i like coffee, hot, cold, in a latte, cappuccino, in a truck stop mug, or Turkish spicy sweet. I would say it is my One vice, but to say that would be a lie that discounts the hundreds of vices i’ve dutifully acquired as a valued member of society, in the last few years.
But my favorite cup of coffee? The one Corey drank, before he left my house for church on that one sunny SUnday morning. it was blacker than tar, and tasted foul like poison, but i handed it to him.. apologized, said i would make him another one, but he drank it down. and thanked me for it. that cup left a smile on my face.
