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July 20, 2001

filled with hope

It is Friday night and, once again, I am alone.   At least there is no one here.

As I do every night, I am cleaning my automatic coffee-maker and filling it with fresh water and fresh grounds.   I dump the dark, wet clumps of coffee grounds down the garbage disposal as I contemplate their sacrifice.   One minute dry and aromatic; the next minute, drowned and spent.   Fresh grounds volunteer and fill the breach.   Experience tells me tomorrow will be no different than today.   But right now, loading and cocking the coffee-maker, I have hope.   It happens every time.   Again and again.

©  2001 by the beastmaster