The Black Coffee

The morning just isn't the same without a coffee is it? Everyone may have their own morning routine but without a coffee to top it off, it's just not the same

       Sleeping in the sky, the city was as grey and black consumed with night, of course our sun would have to wake up soon enough so people could begin their day and time could solider on forward. However there's a part of the morning missing, a most important part just after getting up, when a person wakes up. Because getting up and waking up don't always happen at the same time, although for most people waking up does involve coffee. But coffee isn't a simple notion anymore...

       The night sky overhead watched as Mr Thomas made his way to the train station in his smart suit, he was a tall man that could effortlessly stride through the centre of town and with a simple flick of his hand he checked his watch, smiling as it glemed even in the darkness. He noted that he was running 6 and a half minutes ahead of schedule and so with a sharp turn of his left foot he walked into his regular coffee shop. The hum of the heaters overhead greated him warmly and he marched to the counter. He ordered his coffee while the barista by the coffee machine, whom he recognaised, began making the single espresso he was just ordering. Mr Thomas smiled as he remembered the barista by the coffee machine, Brock, usually timed the espresso to be ready just as the customer had paid. The smart suited man with the shiny shoes smiled a grin of relief as he and Brock caught each others eyes, "Thesingleespresso" Brock said as one whole word. Keeping his eyes open was a challenge, speaking cohearently was a distant dream... A warm cosy dream. Mr Thomas drank the espresso in one, "Thank you, he said, "i needed that, Brock murmered something unsuccessfully, Mr Thomas laughed, "seems like you could use one,

"Espresso? No no, not my thing, i'll be laughing for five minutes non stop." Brock said rubbing his eyes, "Good day." Mr Thomas said with a much less grumpy expression on his face, he left the cafe with a calmer slower walking pace.

       After Mr Thomas had left Brock stood with one hand on the coffee machine to lean against, 'my gosh i am tired' he said to himself laughing at the ironic image of a sleepy man atempting to stand by a fully functioning coffee machine. He gave in, the espresso may be a respectable coffee but it wasn't Brocks coffee, Brocks coffee of choice was the mocha, medium in size with only two shots of espresso and vanilla syrup. Without really thinking Brock had already began and finished making the milk, he poured the chocolate milk into the cardboard cup with the coffee and vanilla. He felt a surge of happy satisfaction watching the coffee and chocolate merge together, in the mornings he never felt right until he'd had his coffee and now he held his coffee between his hand, his smile broadened as the heat oozed into the muscles of his fingers. There were no customers by the till and none by the front doors or outside, so Brock did his marvellous morning maneuver. He squatted just behind the security camera, leant his back against the wall. From here he could squat comfortably with his weight distrubuted evenly accross his legs and back, but more importantly he could see any customers waiting by the till as well as any managers leaving the office at the other end of the store. 'This is the best position' Brock thought to himself taking a warming sip of his frothy mocha, the coffee perked him up, the chocolate woke up his tastebuds and then the millk filled Brocks stomach. It reallyswasremarkable the difference the correct coffee could make in the early hours, Brock thought while a customer looked over smiling at his secret spot, Brock smiled kindly back. For as much as he complained about the early morning, when all life was still thoroughly asleep except from those select few who were given the precious duty to open town, to set up their offices or shops for the awakening of everybody elsewhere, he did enjoy drinking his coffee in his secret spot.

       Janet walked into her usual coffee shop, it seemed rather empty which is almost exactly how she liked it. She walked further in, smelling the pastries her face grew a smile as there were some mornings when they hadn't had time to display the pastries, she liked the smell of pastries. Within moments a slightly young, slightly Italian looking man name 'Brock' appeared from... seemingly nowhere, "Heya, how can i help?" He asked in the cheery voice that she was expecting, "Wow, you just came from nowhere didn't you?" She asked jokily,

"I can teleport." He said in a quieter, deeper tone that she suspected was his natural tone of voice, however happier voices sell more. She ordered a flat white coffee and some brown toast with jam that came in a cute little pot, the barista 'Brock' put the toast on straightaway claiming he would forget otherwise, Janet knew that Brock had forgotten many things in the past, including her toast on a previous occassion. Janet smiled seeing Brock wrestling to open the bag the bread was contained in, her wrestling match was always with the bag of carrots. She found it nice to know someone else was also having an eternal fight with an inanimate bag, "ok all done! He said in a high pitched, 'im not annoyed kind of voice,'

"Now, the flat white" he said, his voice returning to his normal deeper tone. He made a flat white while asking about her day and how she was, the regular sort of chit-chat. He then produced her flat white which looked fine to her, but he, in a very italian motion with an italian twange to his voice, put the coffee in the sink saying, "It's not enough! Im sorry, it just isn't, good, enough!" She laughed at the stereotypical angry Italian coffee perfectionist, however, the irony was that Janet had met this barista before and she knew enough about him, to know that this man was not a full blooded Italian. They had a laugh and a chuckle while he made the second version of her coffee, he exclaimed excitedly getting distracted, again in a very Italian manner, ""sorry, he said "Here's you're coffee, i'll let you have that, you know, so you can drink the coffee you paid for." She chuckled in a delightfully amused way, before taking her coffee, "good to see you" she said happily walking over to the seat in the window. It wasn't too long before her toast with butter and jam was brought over to her table, she sat down looking into the high street from a wide side street, when the sun shined it was reminiscent of spain, however in the dreary morning sun it looked plain as any normal street looked. She turned her attention to her toast and began buttering, she smiled with anticipation knowing by the time she finishes her jam toast, the sun would be up and she'd be gazing at spain through a pleasantly warm side street.

       The clickety tapping of smart high heels on the solid concrete was noisey as the shoes were painful, every one of her steps carved small chunks from the soles of her feet but these chunks felt intensely far from 'small.' She was cursing her foolish choice not to bring a comfortable pair of trainers with her for the reason that she liked how she looked in her work clothes, as vain as it was, she thought her work uniform fitted better showing off her curves as well as looking smarter of course and in truth the trainers did ruin the smart curvy look. She walked into the coffee shop on her standard route catching a glimpse of the pained look on her face, thinking 'how unattractive.' She laughed at the irony of the pained unattractiveness caused by her beautiful shoes, the italian looking barista behind the bar looked over sharply, he quickly shook off his glare when he realised it was a simple laugh. She approached the till, "hi there, the italian barista said cheerily, "single macchiato?" He asked, she nodded, smiling as no one had ever remembered her drink order before. She was trying to ignore the pain in her feet when the barista asked, "you ok?" he said seeing the pain in her expression, "hmm? Oh yes, new shoes" she said casually trying to hide the apparent pain on her face, the barista nodded in sympathetic understanding, handing over her coffee while he wished a good day with a smile, she smiled politely back and sat down at her usual seat in the middle of the store.//

       Brock gazed at this women for more then a moment trying to figure her out, she simply sat staring at the view out the window, occassionally stirring the milk and espresso together. She lightly sipped her drink, the soothing milky coffee eased her pained feet, while the coffee sharpen up her senses. The sun outside had made the world a few shades lighter, she smiled with the knowled that she didn't have to move for a little while longer. In this moment, when her coffee was about half drunk and the world was just about half awake, she felt a truth, a oneness with the world around her. It was the moment when she woke up, smiling to herself she stood up and continued her walk to work. A few moments later Brock walked over to her empty table, pushed the chair in, "didn't finish her coffee" he said to himself, "guess she didn't need to" Brock said contentedly having drunk more of his coffee in his secret spot. Brock deposited the dirty cup and saucer in the washroom towards the back of the store, Jenny, the Barista Maestro on shift who'd opened the store turned to him, "right, she said in an efficient kind of a way, "ive done the order, Jenny had a lovely welsh voice which always made Brock smile, "gosh i'm having the hardest time concentrating today." Jenny said while rubbing her head,

"Where you out last night?" Brock asked casually, "Eugh, yeah and m'heads still pound'ng" Jenny said now rubbing her eyes,

"It sounds like you need a coffee, come'on lets make a coffee for Jenny" Brock said in a friendly tone, even though Jenny was the Maestro Brock had worked there long enough to have an experience, a type of authority that came with the respect of an advisor. They walked to the bar, Jenny's long white blonde hair flowing gracefully behind her, somehow immune to the hangover that Jenny herself was experiencing. Jenny steadied herself, by holding onto the bar, Brock smiled as a friend while he felt a quiet irritation at Jenny's inability to control either herself or her hangover, "So what's your coffee?" Brock asked correctly assuming she wasn't conscious enough for making coffee, "small caramel latte" Jenny said yawning, "coming right up." Brock said confidently.

       After a few moments, Jenny rubbed her eyes, blinked twice before believing what she saw, "Oh crap!" She said in very Welsh tone, "what is it-?" Brock broke off seeing the parade of customers walkng into the store, "Brock, would you mind?" Jenny asked like she would rather be anywhere else, preferably in bed,

"Yeah, you take till sweetie." Brock said smiling, he just couldn't be mad at Jenny for too long, she was just too funny. Brock made Jenny's latte extra hot so it would still be good after the que had been served, it was always the way, you'd make a coffee for yourself and a truck load of customers would walk right on in to stop you from drinking it. This que was the first que of the day for Jenny and Brock, it also marked the start of the working day, the end of the sleepy morning. Brock chuckled to himself, maybe if Jenny wasn't hungover, she'd have had time for her morning coffee.