An Octopus Espresso Cup

Moring starts with an octopus espresso cup made by a girl that didn’t like me. It is beautiful, white, gold rimmed, blueOctopus espresso cup inside. A blue tentacled handle swoops into the bowl and disappears beneath the brown of my coffee. I press the button to start my espresso machine. It blinks, water warming — steady light-ready. I drop in a pod. Each pod cost seventy cents, better than five bucks a day at Starbucks. The machine coughs and spits up my espresso, frothy crema forms on the top. I covert the cup with its octopus arm. I covert the crema froth. The crema means my espresso is real.

The tan dog and the striped cat pace impatiently under my feet. I am awake. I should be doing things for them. The dog wants to be let out and fed. The cat wants to be fed and rubbed. The cat cries, insistent. The dog knows if the cat cries and sits by his bowl there will be food.

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