|I remember when 7-11 carried three kinds|
of coffee: Regular, Bold, and Decaf.
Then during one summer, I finished my Saturday run and the sun was already pretty high in the sky. And on some impulse and the fact I had money in my pocket I rode over to the local 7-11 (which is long gone). I wandered in, feeling somewhat grown up -- I had a job after all -- and bought a coffee. My first coffee. I dumped sugar and artificial flavouring into it. It was "Irish cream."
The heat hadn't really set in yet and there was just the barest of chills in the air as the dew evaporated. The sidewalks weren't hot yet. Traffic was light and only a few early-morning dog walkers were on the sidewalks. I felt grown up. Like I owned the place. Like this great big sea of possibilities extended out in every direction. Not just for the summer but for my entire life. After pre-lunch street hockey it could be an engineering job in Dubai or a cigar maker in Cuba. Who knew? It was all there in front of me!
I rode my bike one-handed as I cautiously sipped the coffee, the heat of which was dulled by the amount of "Irish cream" I had added. It was just a little magical.
|And I think what could of been...|
Still, no matter how fatigued I am or how bad/good the coffee is, there's still part of my that snaps back to that Saturday morning. I won't ever be a Cuban cigar roller and the last time I played street hockey is clouded by years of being an adult with adult responsibilities, but coffee... I can drink that whenever I like.