magic beans

Last night, I dreamt like I hadn’t in years. Awaking after a 7-hour nightmare– where I fought my friend in a death duel– I desired to sleep. Real sleep. And it’s all because of

magic Brazilian coffee beans.

Th previous morning. Bobby, one of my co-workers, brought his portable coffee operation to the Thursday morning meeting.

The coffee cart, next to my desk, was filled with coffee-making machinery. Adjacent, a whole-milk brand sold at Trader Joes. A bottle of Ghirardelli chocolate. And a un-marked brown bag holding

magic Brazilian coffee beans.

I don’t like coffee. I find it deplorable. Stains the teeth, broils the breath, and entangles my bowels. Today was different. The scent of the oak-wood colored coffee beans. The sounds of the beans ground, crackled, spun, churned, and poured into miniature paper cups.

I could not deny.

One order of mocha, please.

It landed on my desk, piping with steam. The bitter aroma shot up my nostrils to the forefront of my brain. Must drink.

That day I finished work, had my car washed, stopped by home to shower, dress up, date a firecracker while dancing Salsa, then returned home feeling like I could do it again.

Then night came, then nightmares came, then came the crash. The next morning. 24 hours later at work:

What did you guys think of the coffee yesterday?

Strong.

A bunch of the team had trouble sleeping. Felt wired. Lots of vivid dreams. Did you get that feeling too?

magic Brazilian coffee beans.