I like to drink tea. Nine, maybe ten hot cups a day.
Sometimes I feel like my heart is going to burst from happiness with my first
sip, but that might just be the caffeine. Any vessel will do but lately I’ve
been sitting in the work kitchen at three am reading fiction and drinking hot
earl grey with milk out of, inexplicably, delicately painted fine china. Outside
I picture the collapse of civilisation, the rise of previously extinct megafauna
and all the good people with pure souls ascending to a heaven haloed by ass
virgins. Now don’t hurry me, I’m just finishing this cup of tea.
No comments:
Post a Comment