Caffeine

A Story by ZackOfBridge

We've all been there

Listen:

Greg has put enough coffee into him to piss a fully furnished Starbucks. He believes his vision has exploded. Like many explosions, this one has blown walls and barriers to neat blocks of rubble. The walls and barriers this particular explosion has done away with are the ones that separate the dimensions. Greg now believes he can see the 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th dimension as if they were a family of three cramped together in a semi-annual holiday photo. Of course, this is delusion because it is known that there is no 5^thdimension.

It goes three, four, skip the fifth and into the sixth.

Greg’s heart will surely explode upon the inevitable railway crash of this caffeine overdose. However, for now we can hold fast in the darting eyes of this doomed, tooth stained, bladder pinched, inter-dimensional Greg.

The coffee began into him when he woke up; naturally. He drank and leaked his dreams into the toilet. Sleep sand in his eyes cleared; sleep sand being a much less ornery sand than its beached counterpart. His face tightened and he poured more. He drank iced coffee at home now, the temperature was cooler, but the black was still black as black as black. Yes, the lack of steam in the mug lacked that coffee commercial warmth, but the coolness of iced coffee needed no interval for consumption.

He was get up and go now; to the coffee house where the espresso flowed like Mother Nature's lactation. Waiting in line was difficult for Greg. As we all know, there is a certain amount of fellowship to be found in any given line in America. Unfortunately, Greg didn’t give two s***s for fellowship, only for coffee beans that have been shredded and drowned, and given their life for his mid-morning buzz. Soon though, the coffee would push those two s***s right out of him.

The espresso, fully loaded and with taste that would make Mr. Jeffrey Dahmer cringe, flowed into him and bubbled tar pits in his stomach. That eased over on his drive to work where he took full advantage of the customer coffee machine. Over and again, he filled the white Styrofoam cup with the black stuff, wasting no time on sugars and milks. And he did this outside of anyone’s sight, but I saw him do it, he licked that Styrofoam cup’s inside, made it white and clean again. His heart made a boxing ring of his chest, and punched against his breast like Oscar de La Hoya. He didn’t mind because now his mind was slipping. The French Roast broke him and it fixed him, it killed him and made him live in eternity.

After his death (because he surely didn’t live eternally) Greg was given a full body autopsy and the reports confirmed that his brain had taken to a peculiar texture; something like coffee cake.