Flat Line

The weatherman is terribly wrong; it is thunderstorm outside. The foggy glass window is the only thing separating the chaos on the streets and the stillness in where she sits.

The black coffee remains in its spot for the past hours; half-empty, cold and bitter. It was good coffee – smooth, strong and crisp, with a hint of bittersweetness. And oh that tangy aftertaste that lingered in her mouth left her wanting more.

And she tried to keep the goodness for as long as she could.

Alas. Good things never last. The coffee is stale and it leaves her with a slight distaste after every tiny sip.

She wants to make it last. But she doesn’t know how.

Now it’s a half cup of once-good coffee wasted. Do we throw out the now mediocre coffee or do we continue stringing on?