When you make coffee the old-fashioned way there’s space to pause and think. Listening to the percolator’s steady burp, watching the water turn darker in the all glass pot, reminds me of something. But what?
It’s time to take the brew off the burner. I set it aside to cool a bit and let any stray grounds settle to the bottom. My favorite cup, the one with the wide brim, sits ready.
As I pour the fresh coffee, the steamy scent rises and the comparison crystalizes: life is a process, and not everyone’s turns out the same way, or should.
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Flash Fiction by David 
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