The Last Americano

Take a day for yourself tomorrow. Get out. Do something other than stare at the gigabytes you download inside and into your dark and tiny 'lil room-womb. Get up early and act like you have an interview downtown or somewhere. Take your time and get some coffee for here and just sit there and drink it up. Maybe write a story about how you are down to your bottom dollar, but you were lucky enough that a friend was working at the coffee shop where you were hoping they would be, able to wave their magic decision over your cup and make your Americano appear free-of-charge. Dear friend who I only see on occasion, the Great & Amazing, in the flesh, the one and only. I write a tribute to you and the fine job you do as the person you are, not the thing you do.

Looking down at my bottom dollar stretched out on the table next to the Last Americano—wondering where to go—here, or where to go after there is no more Americano. Let it go. Leave it as a tip. Wait it out. Take another sip. There is still time. The bottom dollar's still yours. Roll it up and use it as a straw. Dip it in. Suck it in. Rake it in. Take it in—to the last drop.

Near the bottom, it tastes like pennies.

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