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Woke up to the realization that today was national coffee day.

You know how much I love altering my sober state of being and caffeine is the most legal and least detrimental way. Not to mention all the cute baristas that smile at you when you whip a notebook and ballpoint pen out. She thinks I’m writing something poignant. Something intellectual. In all honesty, most of these ink strokes she intently loses her gaze in are nothing but notes about my desiring to see what she looks like without that apron on and if she’d make me a coffee to go on the way out of her place in the morning.

Willing to bet she’s got a French press at home at the very least.

That way she can get me out of the door quickly.

Or she can fuck around and make me a Miel and leave time for orgasms while the stove-top is busy preparing my future exit.

Give me a kiss and coffee on my way out the door before you slam it.

That way I’ve got the energy to make it to one more shop before it closes.


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