the benefit of mr kite.

he spills coffee on the sidewalk. he looks at his empty styrofoam cup. he half turns then changes his mind and looks at his empty cup once again. spilt caffein spells fuck. my. life. that was his last 5 dollars and it was supposed to last him the whole day. the coffee. not the 5 dollars. coffee alone can sustain the man. he tosses the styrofoam cup away into the bin and walks off. looks at his watch. fuck, it's 8.56. no coffee. he couldn't decide which was worst. that his girlfriend of 7 years doesn't want to marry him or that his best friend of 20 years was cheating on his sister. on a normal day. hell, i'll even call it perfect day, the thought of what lies ahead seems bearable. with coffee in his bloodstream. it was a like drug. no mornings can go by without a sip of that dark liquid. nothing but the darkness and aromatic smell of a cup of coffee from the corner coffee joint to make a man feel like he just had his best fuck. don't tell his girlfriend that. 7 years and the 7 year itch starts to surface. he might just have unprotected sex with the stranger he met in the club last week. they were firm. he didnt need to touch them to know. it was written all over her face. she was hunting. he wasnt. damn. what was i thinking? 7 years and she didnt want to settle. just yet, she says. his wallet, empty save for a picture of him and the woman he loves and a maxed out credit card.

the sidewalk stained from the coffee that spilleth from the styrofoam cup washed clean by the drizzling rain. he curses.