I kept wanting to make our flash fiction extravaganza relevant to current events, but I couldn’t find songs in my music collection that I loved, which contained any of the following:
- -March
- -Madness
- -Sixteen
- -NO productivity thanks to bracketology and compulsive SM-refreshing
Since I just read Manish’s snide post about hackneyed, caffeinated metaphors, this granddaughter of a coffee-grower suddenly has java on her mind (but sadly, not in her tummy). As a result, unforgettable horns and Peggy Lee’s silken voice waft through my head and there we have it. A title for our weekly 55.
So, write your 55 perfect words about the potent potable I reference above OR its affect on animals (Wheeee!) or the “third place“-establishments which charge you far too much for the privilege of sipping something acrid which apparently came your way via fair trade. Or, ignore me completely and write about whatever strikes your fancy this Friday. As always, leave the next chapter of your oeuvre (or a link to where we might discover it) in the comments below. Thank you and remember, there’s no shame in drinking decaf, I don’t care WHAT anyone says. 😀*No, that is not BLACK coffee in the picture, but there is a reason for that. I don’t drink it that way. Ever.
Mmmmm, milk. 😉
Now on with your writing!
March Madness: Baby Shaq
Shaq: My man. WhatÂ’s cookin? Kush: Brother, LSU smoked Duke. Baby Shaq, Davis took where you couldnÂ’t. Shaq: BÂ’cause you never helped with that damn Calculus homework. Kush: You know what Davis has been saying, “Shaq is going to live forever, I can’t live forever being Baby Shaq. I want to be my own guy.“
Here’s my First take:
The warm aroma of roasted coffee beans, a frothy cappucino with chocolate powder, that bitter-sweet aftertaste and the feeling of contented bliss in being with close friends. Forgetting about our day to day worries and focusing on the bright plush orange environment at Barista, the colour lifting our very spirits, those really were the daysÂ….
And here’s my Second…
The laptop sitting perched between the clients and herself, cups of cappuccino placed on the table, not glanced at yet, hoping to come to a common understanding to a difficult problem, that’s what the fancy café meant today, all the fun filled conversations with friends in those bright Barista’s…are now only a cherished memory …
the coffee swirled in the cup, in rhythm to the steps he was taking. small steps. small swirls. big steps. big swirls. Funny how his life never worked out that way. The only thing that kept him going, through the mind numbing drudgery was that latte every morning
and the pretty girl who served it.
He watched the foam catch on her imperfect teeth and flecks of cocoa dust mingle with her lips’ powdery paint. She swallowed, looked away, held her thoughts tensely like the simmering heat in the cub. Music thinned and billowed, equations and diagrams lay forgotten in a graphite grave. Outside trees flower but bore no fruit.
Hey, what about that old classic from The Sound Of Music, “You are sixteen, going on eight, going on four, going on two, but there can only be one” … or something like that… it’s been a while since i’ve heard it 😉
Not a coffee drinker. The usual can be found at the usual place.
1130 am and time for a snack to ward off a lurking hunger attack… The coffee arrives – milky, machine-made, Sweet good old Indian style Nescafe! My mouth melts to the swirl of the latte Sliding smoothly down my gastric highway A feeling of peace is evoked and foundÂ… My typing, fortified, continues safe and sound.
Ok so it’s not about coffee but a first try’s a first try…
Just another Monday
He woke up at six like he did every Monday. The usual toast and eggs she served him were noticeably tasteless. The newspaper bored him and even the series victory couldnÂ’t hold his attention. He slammed down his cup of tea, spilling it, and went outside to wash the car.
First day of retirement sucks.
Hi! I wrote a nanofiction yesterday too at my blog….it’s not about coffee, but it is about my first visit to India. THanks for the inspiration!
Nearly dusk, Mangalore station. Squeezing from the bus, backpack stubbornly wedging between each row of seats, curious eyes search, and find her soul. Stepping off into a wall of steam, adjusting her pack, her shirt already soaked with sweat. Fear, confusion. Finding a phone, she inserts 5 rupees as drops of sweat roll off her nose.
😛 I’m not a writer…so, you know, it’s far from the genius of some of your work, but it sure was fun, and I will do it every Friday!
I enter the Dunkin Donuts, awaiting my coffee… Cream, Splenda, and a splash of Vanilla… An Indian auntie smiles when she hands me the caffeinated brew And then she asks, “Where are you from?”…. I am Indian, I reply…then she invites me to her home for food… Drinking slowly….they are always friendly…it’s like family.
the electricity felt in the stadium was fantastic… i watched the lean athletic men below running down the court… ‘whoosh’…in went a 3 pointer… BZZZZ went the buzzer… was it over? it was…and a man lay on the court weeping…. it was the end of his glory game… my heart went out to his demise…
By the time the milk boils, my father rinses out his dentures. Thick decoction stews in the coffee filter. He whips an airy ambrosia, poured back and forth between steel tumblers.
Mother lies talking to the wall, “He… remember? Threw the whole thing on my face – so much sugar, you just wanna kill me.”
He struggled from bed, joints creaking, into the cold morning, oil wars sapping his heat. Water in the pan, the switch to high, the rhythmic grind-and-tap of the acrid bean. Tar in the press, crude in the cup, a bitter revenge in his mouth. It chills slowly on the commute, leaving ash.
a first attempt. . . thanks for continuing this series and honouring Caffea, whom I propose should be added to the pantheon (and to the Catholic calendar of saints).
His eyes crinkle in smile as he moves his Queen. The misty aroma of my coffee tickles my nose as I raise the cup to my lips. He raises his eyebrows in challenge. I lick the foam off my lips. A haze clouds his eyes when he looks at me.
Checkmate. The boy is mine.
She flipped through the CDs at the register, stole a glance at the double expresso brownies. “Half-fat decaf white chocolate mocha with soymilk and a drop of hazelnut.” The barista opened his mouth.
“Grande, in a venti cup.”
She had never felt this important when coffee was a dollar a cup at the gas station.
the midnight coffee run continues.
you guys can totally write about tea. it’s caffeinated. 😉 i like this topic!
Ms. Rita’s Starbucks in Ratanpur
Ms. Rita, a fair and lovely coed from Cornell, originally from Ratanpur meets our Dablo at a dhaba. Dablo, a 10 year old waiter is a hopeless flirt.
Rita: Low-fat frappacino, please. Grande. Dablo: Madame, no frappacino. Mother dairy chai, here. Rita: Whatever. Dablo: Apun ka chai. Amitabh Bachchan loves. Are you Ms. India? Very pretty.
The pontiff brought the cup to his lips, with cautious curiosity. As the steaming black liquid made its way over the edge of the cup, he pulled away so as not to absorb too much of the infidelsÂ’ drink.
He let the taste linger and then licked his lips. We must have this, he thought.
All evening he’d wondered how it would be to touch that skin, run his hands through her hair. They’d touched knees beneath the small bistro table. And they’d both decided that they didn’t want dessert.
He drove up to her kerbside. They held glances for seconds together — it was easy, effortless. Unawkward.
“Coffee?”
They were to meet at Starbucks, but there were two on adjacent blocks on opposite sides of the avenue’s roar. Rushing to arrive early, she forgot her cell phone, and waited anxiously, nursing a hazelnut latte. Across the avenue, he was patient, willing to be kept waiting. In this way they stood each other up.
http://zadeblog.blogspot.com/2006/01/nano55nonfiction.html#links
since its to the celebration of caffeine after all, as anna put it. so here’s one about tea. and its true that green tea is better than coffee!! 😀
“Drink Green Tea, itÂ’s got more caffeine than coffee with less calories!” He remembered her pearly smile and her enchanting manner, the way she held her books as she bent over him, playfully chiding him for drinking coffee while all she did was sleep.
ItÂ’s no wonder at all, that he still drinks green tea.
ahhhh…chick pea. ::clap::clap::clap::clap::clap::U-C-L-A-fight!fight!fight!!
final four…final four.
Not such a bad place, he thought. They just want some coffee. Most of them didn’t even look particularly unhappy, as he had imagined they would. Part of the morning routine, that was all. About time I got to front of the line, he grumbled inwardly. Inside his coat pocket, he squeezed the detonator.
CHAI 🙂 (my firehook provider)
although USC is my alma mater for undergrad UCLA donned me the hippocratic oath..
and hella happy that UCONN and DUKE aren’t in…
GO UCLA :). this past wkend, basketball was super fantastic…
march madness and the SM meetup: priceless 🙂
great meeting all the wonderful people… amazing time..and yo dad: he is more amazing in person than over the blog… is that possible? :), yes….. he is a RIOT…
Slender vanilla fingers toying with a cappuccino; opposite her, latte-toned male hands clasping an espresso.
Large flashing eyes the colour of mocha; dilated pupils, musky perfume lingering, long black hair beckoning.
Soft feminine laughter, the sound of light spring rain set to music.
Two hearts accelerate in unison, euphoric even without the infusion of caffeine.
Yay, I was waiting for Jai’s turn =)
Hey thanks Sonia, that’s very nice of you 😉 I didn’t have access to the internet over the weekend, which is the reason for the delay in my usual contribution.
You should give it a try too — Go on, it’s only 55 words 😉
The last time I tried it took me 2 hours, lol.
Two hours ?! Well, it requires a bit of practice initially…..Keep trying, although be careful otherwise sooner or later you’ll end up with “Nanofiction Tourette’s” like me, where you just can’t stop yourself from churning out multiple 55s in rapid succession 😉
For ANNA, who kindly hosts this very nice forum.
“There’s no shame in drinking decaf,” I say.
“True,” the stranger says. “I met my wife because of decaffeination. She was ordering a decaf at Dunkin Donuts. I followed her home. I willed her to be mine. Willed her.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Maybe decaf had it’s problems.
What problems? It worked, didn’t it?
another 50 because it’s not cheating if it’s different posts……
“How do you will something to happen?” I say.
Eyes narrow, “you think about what you deserve. And then you find your will rolls over and erases everything!”
“What about her will?” I sip my coffee, which is, thankfully, caffeinated.
“What is her will compared to mine?”
Freak, I think.
DMZ, cute 🙂 I suppose it did……
In which I answer DMZ’s question……
“But,” I say,” does her will matter?”
“Yes and no.” This makes me laugh.
“So, you can make your will reality. Are you a god?”
“To her, I am.” Okay, now I know he’s full of shit.
“You are making her up.”
“Maybe so. Still no shame in drinking decaf.”
The Cereal Killer of the people wake up after bad dream. He look to himself, all covered in blood from killing last night. All bottles on floor after drinking at night. Cereal Killer have very big hang-over. Cereal Killer piss and flush. He making strong coffee. He pick newspaper with headlining: Cereal Killer Strikes Again!
––-*-
They had set up a small household in her hostel room: electric kettle, coffee mugs, tea bags, powdered milk, a jar of Nescafe. Every morning, he made undrinkable tea for her and passable black coffee for himself, before walking through the still-asleep hostel corridors to his own room. His reward: a sleepy kiss from her.
––-*-
When they broke up, he tried sleeping in his own room but realized that he had forgotten how to sleep alone. During one such sleepless night, as he walked by her room, he saw her throwing out the coffee jar he had deliberately left in her room, hoping that it would remind her of him.
––-*-