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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=498173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Coffee</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee<br>affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;<br>it stimulates all the organs.<br>I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but<br>as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you<br>what I mean.<br>Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us<br>is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.<br>I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.<br>The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.<br>Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she<br>took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it<br>did not please her.<br>Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,<br>pretending to be naive.<br>"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."<br>"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world<br>that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram<br>from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing<br>else.<br>"All right," she said.<br>I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They<br>had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went<br>into the kitchen.<br>She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a<br>cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove<br>and turned the gas on under it.<br>All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I<br>won't. She left the kitchen.<br>Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember<br>seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door<br>after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.<br>I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October<br>and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water<br>into the sink.<br>The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.<br>I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage<br>and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and<br>peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.<br>It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.<br>I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon<br>all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of<br>coffee.<br>When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a<br>grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."<br>"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her<br>voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.<br>I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I<br>had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.<br>We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It<br>was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San<br>Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.<br>I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we<br>were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.<br>I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must<br>keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.<br>She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that<br>she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was<br>seeing me. I walked right into the house.<br>She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not<br>bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in<br>front of herself.<br>I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind<br>of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.<br>"What do you want?" she said.<br>"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for<br>a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.<br>She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.<br>Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.<br>"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like<br>talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."<br>She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of<br>her body. This was not good.<br>"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want<br>a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."<br>The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like<br>going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like<br>going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.<br>I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not<br>planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an<br>empty white cup and a spoon.<br>They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has<br>enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Brautigan">Richard Brautigan</a> from <i>Revenge of the Lawn</i><div class=q>
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