5 minutes over time budget, departure…

At Hopper sbux.  Allowing self 10 minutes of content.  The rushed writing father telling his story.  Told white lie to get $0.50 refill of medium roast.  Guilt felt?  None.  Not when it’s a corporation like this.

The week has been a fight, since Monday.  Today, so far, I’m in counterattack mode writing and thinking faster than the week’s cosmic cannon can shoot at me.  They say rain is coming.  So welcomed.  Any change, more than invited.

Some classical piano playing through the speakers, desperate to pair and harmonize with all the beeping sounds, the steaming hisses from that machine, and the baristas yelling at each other in their deeply codified tongue.  And I just observe, the always-frenzied writing daddy.

Already down to just over 4 minutes.  Never enough time.  Ever.  Day’s business plan already blemished in two sights–  Didn’t wake at 4, and didn’t leave house at 7:30.  But the day’s operation has to move onward.  And I do.  Fast I can, which is slowing as I exhale.  But then I take a sip of this basically-free roast and I’m repaired– reborn and recharged.  I laugh, bought with change from the Passat’s filthy center sector, under emergency break, below shift.