Do you have a microwave?"
"No." She replied. "Why?"
"Oh, I'm staying up for a bit. Thought I'd heat up the coffee from this morning."
She poked her head into the doorway. "Why don't you use a little saucepan to heat it up on the stove?"
"You mean, like, fry it?" I thought about it. "Great idea!"
I poured the coffee out of the pot and into the saucepan. I turned on the gas stove and couldn't
help but laugh at how silly I felt heating coffee with fire. She smiled. "You know, Alex, I like my
space. I usually can't go a whole day with any given person. I've actually liked having you around.
And I want you to hold onto my spare set of keys." And she went to bed, leaving me stunned, staring
after her. Because, you see, I know what it means for her to say that to anyone.
I'm 25 years old. I don't have a job. I don't have a permanent home. I don't have security or
reassurances or comfort.
But I had the time to drink coffee ... and that day-old fried coffee was truly the best cup
of coffee I've ever had.