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Balance.
This week my coffee is fine. The mix of cream and sugar is just right. And the temperature is not only bearable, but enjoyable. It won’t be long before the waitress comes over and tops the cup off, forever changing its attributes. She will innocently ask if I want more, the pot steaming, hovering, and I’ll greedily indulge her, knowing the outcome.
“Yes, please...”
Maybe I should just go black.

2/23/98