Black Coffee Bliss

First, a little background: My apartment consists of two main rooms — a large kitchen/living room, and my bedroom. Connecting the two is a curtain that I throw down to block the insidious smells of stinky cooking, or to give my baseboard heaters a rest when heating the space.

When I’m working in my main room, I turn off the heat in the other rooms, because really, why pay for a room to be heated when you’re not spending any time in it? This means that treks to the bedroom or bathroom require opening the curtain and facing the refreshingly cold slap of crisp air. It is, at once, both a shock and a welcome pinch. When you’re pounding the keys and watching the white-etched numbers slowly fade away on your keyboard, it’s easy to forget that it’s a cold, barren wasteland outside.

Sometimes, when I feel the inclination, I make coffee while in the warm confines of the main room. The green beans come out, the roaster is plugged in, and soon the smell of roasting and brewing fills the space from floor to ceiling. On those days, walking back through that curtain means the warm, thick smell of black coffee bliss.

Henry Rollins has the Black Coffee Blues, but that sharp, crisp taste, and the smell of roasted beans in the air is nothing but the finest of life. It’s better than any cup of Starbucks. It’s better than any old, frozen grounds.

A quick roast means a room thick with the smell of coffee.

A cup of black wonder means pure, unadulterated pleasure.

There is no cream.

There is no sugar.

There’s just that steaming cup that makes everything just a little bit better.