A Note on Coffee & I

 

I sat in a booth with cracked seats at the Waffle House off of Keystone Avenue. My 11th grade math books spread out in front of me, I opened my mouth and forced the bitter, weak coffee down my throat. My Grammie told me that she drank her coffee black. She called it lazy man's coffee. I liked the way that sounded so I decided I was going to drink my coffee black too.