Today’s coffee is Sumatra Sinatra; it is mild, woody with a hint of iron; it comes from mysterious Lake Tonga... nobody knows what really happens at Lake Tonga. The natives are not forthcoming. You call them on the phone, you ask for somebody: instead of answering you hear the sound of an animal or someone making an animal noise. Music or large machinery dances in the background. Somebody says “okay, okay” and you hold, but you don’t hear anything. Then you listen: the sound of a child breathing: Hello? you ask, are you still there? You feel certain that the child is just standing there, holding the phone. You chide them, or no one. You want to yell at them. Perhaps you do. Or perhaps you lash about like a frustrated dreamer, touching nothing. My life is not like this, you plead, there has been some mistake. Later you count the crows sitting on the wire outside the Police Station and you realize: no mistake has been made.
This is the coffee of the day, Sumatra Sinatra, from Lake Tonga and it cannot be decaffeinated, because the waters of Lake Tonga are dark and show no reflection.
NUMBER 36, WEEK 26: NEXT POSTING BY DECEMBER 22
