the week comes full circle.
i'm at my desk again, as early as 5 am. my colleague's media player plays loud, songs i know by heart now, but can't place.
my coffee is too sweet today. only on sunday mornings, i drink sweet black coffee. (on other days, it's just bitter, in your memory) i let the sweet and the bitter mix at the bottom of the mug, as i form four quick concentric circles with the mug in the air. the mixture swirls at the bottom, the aroma rising to touch my nostrils with what i know will be a wake-up call to my sleepy sunday morning.
something about these mornings never change- the music, the slight gush of adrenalin over headlines, the coffee mug on the side of the computer screen, the morning newspapers, and the cell phone. something about sundays never change- my only guarantee of permanence.
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