On office coffee and nothingness

Somewhere in every office's confines sits that coffee pot that every caffeinated employee cringes at -- usually as they pour their fourth of the day.

Slightly burnt, poorly measured to be served as water's tan cousin or strong enough to make a Brazilian think twice, people rally around it.

But I can't. I know what dark secrets lurk in the heart of those ground beans (my apologies to The Shadow). Sometimes, when the choice is bad coffee or fighting sleep behind the wheel, it can be tolerated. The daily routine fails the qualify. A dose of cream cannot make swill palatable.

Now that a roaster and wholesaler moved in down the street, I take to the curb whenever the coffee urge strikes and brave the edge of the road in our light industrial district. This fine brew doesn't require my customary milk or cream to cool it down. Sugar for sweetness? Not with the Sweet Yellow Bud. Today's taste of Ethiopian had a heavier presence and left me slightly jittery. Good coffee should have enough flourishes in its taste that dressing it up is unnecessary.

It's worth the walk. Even if, as this morning proved, breeze on the short walk proves my sweater no more warming than a T-shirt. Doesn't matter - the way back was warmer. I'm pulling for my friends at the roaster. If they go under, I go coffee-less.