un cafe, por favor

Twentysomething angst: such a cliche. Bah! I shall not succumb.

Have you ever made yourself a cup of coffee? Well of course you have, and if you haven’t then you have no business being here. I wish to have nothing to do with you. So, coming back to coffee, I like it strong. I’m not talking can-i-have-an-extra-shot-of-espresso-in-that strong. I mean a real toxic, industrial strength concoction. You may want to put some sugar in there, but not too much mind you, the bitterness must shine through. A dash of cinnamon can be refreshing, but that’s mood-dependent. And for godsake, no chocolate please! What’s all this café mocha nonsense? Kids these days, I tell you. Tut tut. A healthy dose of caffeine in the morning is just what the doctor ordered. Not only does it exorcise any residual onebeertoomany demons but also quells potential wrongsideofthebed tempers.  Ah, coffee.

But I digress.

Where was i? Ah yes, the coffeemaking process. And before that I mentioned angst. I swear there’s a link, which I’ll get to soon.  So – coffee, sugar, milk, cinnamon (optional) – then we add the water. At first what you get is a disgusting, milky solution. Quite horrid. But as you stir it it gets darker, uglier, browner, more bitter – terribly bitter, richer, fuller, more satisfying, delicious. Like life, no?

Or so ‘they’ would have us believe. No, no. I will not succumb to this monstrous angst. I will believe ‘them’. ‘They’ have never let me down before.

Bah! Yes ‘they’ have. ‘They’ always do.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome on stage Monsieur Angst who shall perform for us his famous Victory Dance.

*bright neon sign flashes APPLAUSE*

 Sigh.