I like my women like I like my coffee…
- hot and black
- light and sweet
- Ethiopian
- in the morning, in bed
- simple and earthy, but with exciting, nutty undertones
- tall, non-fat
- hand-picked from among the finest in the world
- in the kitchen
- raised on the shady slopes of the South American countryside
- shared among several coworkers at the office
- artificially sweet, cold as ice
- intensely, but without ever admitting dependency
- from a small, independent and communally operated farm
- in my lap, as I scream out violently, clutching my genitals in agony
- bitter, possibly older than originally believed
- in the car, on the way to work, not like a lazy gold-digging bitch, Diane!
- full of vodka
- cheap, available on various street-corners in the wee hours of the morning
- covered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce... what?
- the product of hasty and distracted teenagers, brought into the world with little fanfare and abandoned without so much as a name
- …in the sense that I don’t actually find myself that interested in coffee these days, and that I think I might maybe like to start drinking tea…
4 comments:
ground up and in the freezer?
-steaming hot on the kitchen table
-owing me five million dollars after making a mess in my lap in the car
with a shot of cream.
Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you. I like my women like my coffee.
...I don't really like coffee.
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