Batch #24

I start my morning with coffee, always.
I wake up at the crack of dawn, the sunlight slowly awakens me.
The bright light fills the room with colour.

I get up, put on a pair of jeans and a shirt and make my way down.

The house has two staircases,
bright white and made of wood.
They don’t make the squeaking sound which is often heard on wooden staircases.

I find my way downstairs,
into the kitchen.

It has a cold but comfortable feeling to it.
Monotone, simple and quiet.

I often make my coffee here, as a ritual.
A slow, patient way of making.
As if time stands still.

Today I’m not here.
Not in this kitchen.
Not in this house.

I find myself in an urban jungle.
An environment vibrant in colours, voices and faces.
Restless souls contaminate everyone around me.
I try and keep calm.

A guy is serving coffee.
His voice faster than the flow of his pouring.

I walk towards him.
I order coffee.

“Sure man, sure man”.

He can make me coffee.
The ladies at the table chatter continuously.
My eyes stare into their soul as I put words on paper.

All I see are restless souls.
They got caught in the web of the urban jungle.

The guy serves me my coffee.

“Enjoy man, enjoy man.
Do you like rap-music?
I rap too”.

His blurps are restless, like his soul.
I was never good at small talk.
Neither is he.

I sip my coffee slow.
I stare at those around me.

Am I truly this different or are those around me still seeking their peace?

The coffee is less good than I hoped.
I can’t blame the guy.
He is restless, so is his coffee.
I decide to leave.

This place won’t bring me much more than restless souls and poor coffee.

Mornings at my place are more comfortable.
Not only for the coffee.


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