There are a very few things left on earth that compare to a good cup of coffee in the morning.
The rich woody aroma of those magical brown beans releasing all their secrets when crushed.
The time to contemplate during their slow steep in hot water.
The anticipation of that heady brew coursing through your bloodstream while you slowly stir the precious dark liquid.
The pep in your step after.
It really kick starts the day and gets you ready for your upcoming fight or flight.
Although, since the great 'event', one must consider oneself most fortuitous to find whole beans.
Mostly, a jar of good old freeze dried chicory laden factory produced is what reveals itself after a short rummage through what used to be a pantry.
But today we are lucky.
And so I write this to you, dear former owner of burnt out rubble.
In gratitude.
For you, like myself, were a person of discerning taste with a penchant for the finer things in life.
Life, as precious as your beans, must be preserved and to this endeavor I must be on my way.
I hope this letter finds you in better times and intact.
Regards,
a survivor
