tryst with the devil

A simple day.
I got up to the imperfect tunes of Joanne’s flute, today was Rag Yaman day. The calming sounds, like those of a cool sea breeze blowing through a grove of coconut trees. Hypnotically I rise and go to get the foul smell of yesterday’s chicken curry out of my mouth.
My mornings, at home, are terribly monotonous…. So, as is my habit, I dress and leave after slurping down a hot mug of black coffee, ignoring the article on the ill effects of caffeine on the body, mum has carefully stuck to the fridge.
Hard as I try I can never get the coffee to taste like the kind made on the college campus. Simple Nescafe, simple pleasure.
Come rain or scorching heat one can always find me next to the druid that creates for me this morning time elixir.
It starts with a nod to man at the machine, as I give him the coupon, which like a password takes me to a land of such intimate bliss. A moment’s wait and I have in my hands the day, the life I must drink to survive the turmoil I have soon to face. (Independence wars, demand curves, delinquents, and dowry deaths.)
I hold the plastic mug in my hands, inhaling the hypnotically swirling steam that rises from the surface of the liquid, calling out to me, making me yearn to put the cup to my lips and find solace in the fact that the coffee machine-stand is nailed to the floor of the canteen.
I wait impatiently for the liquid to cool, so as to reach that state of ecstasy, but as always it decides to make me wait, to pine for it so much I would readily steak my tongue for its flavour, but I cannot today. My tongue still is raw from yesterday’s burns. So I wait. Ohh! how time plays me like a mandolin. And then as I see that last wisp of steam leave the cup, signalling my jail time over I raise it to my eager lips, to drink and be content, when some delinquent fool chances to bang into me, causing my shirt to stain and more importantly my cup to fall. I watch as if hoping that time will stand still and let me save the cup before it hit’s the ground. But I remind my self that the matrix is just a movie. Fate was not kind enough to favour me and the coffee spilt. The death of a day.