The coffee shop was bustling. He had to be across the street in five minutes, ut he really needed that shot of espresso. Then he saw her, and all thoughts of his job and that meeting he was late for left his mind.
Calligraphy spoke aloud got my head bobbin like –
Double shot of espresso, match my heartbeat to my brainwaves
They be racing to get ahead of time, keeping me a brain slave
Need more addictions, need more to crave, more to crave
Slow it down, speed it up
Racing, racing towards whatever inflictions infinity has to bestow
she was walking around when she saw him, she thought that he was familiar.. and indeed he was. They went to the same college and attend to almost every class together.
The only thing Ava new about Xavier was that he was a mysterious young man, and that his family was a very important in the lawyers and hotels
Caramel kisses and
the name of a murderer
around my neck,
because I kill
everything I could love
and swallow down the
caffeine in your espresso-blood,
because that’s what addicts do–
Italian espresso and a foggy day. The last thing I knew of you burning off in the mid-afternoon sun. That brightness, that wilderness of skyscrapers. That new outlook.
It was like a train whooshing by. Amidst the blustering winds, the smell of amber espresso, the lifted pinkies bringing small cups to the moustachioed mouth.
She picks up the tiny white mug with brown-and-white swirled espresso, his hands trembling. The tiny cafe at the corner – the corner right before the sketchy ally-way – is next to empty, the only sounds being mumbled “thank you”‘s, coffee cups clinking, and footsteps not he creaking wooden floor.
Two hours ago she woke up in the park, unable to move, with nothing but a towel and a metal box of money. She doesn’t know anything except for her name and the town she’s in. She doesn’t know where her family is.
And she can’t remember anything before this night.
I remember my sister drinking espresso by a small coffee shop near our apartment. She’d told me not to drink these kind of stuff yet because I was still 10 years old. After reaching 14 years, I hated the time I tasted coffee. It tasted very bitter but it left a sweet aftertaste. It’s amazing how I can simply compare the troubles of our life with just a simple, hot drink. Maybe drinking coffee isn’t that bad, after all.
“My works is not racist…” Read the start of the Tweet from “Guy In Your MFA,” “In my next story, I describe a girl with ‘mocha’ skin, like a fair-trade latte sweetened with cinnamon and hemp milk.”
“Nice,” I sigh. “He’s the kind of guy that would call Grace Jones ‘espresso’ instead of describing her magnetism and feral stature.”
It’s nasty. The drink in her hand is disgusting, it’s bitter and not anywhere near sweet enough but he’d picked it out and this date was already going horribly enough that she didn’t have the gall to tell him he’d made an awful decision on her drink.
So she brought the paper cup to her lips, keeping her eyes trained on the man before her, his buzzed hair, his small eyes, his general air of pretentious asshole, and smiled around the plastic lid, humoring his boring story about an office worker, and took a small sip of the foam at the top of her drink.
At least the foam didn’t taste like shit.
I am not especially fond of espresso. It is just too strong. I LOVE the smell of anything coffee, but having once been a coffee drinker, I can no longer abide the flavor. I could put my head in a bag of fresh ground cover and savor the smell.
It was Sunday, so of course, the bookstore was crowded. Alison cursed under her breath for not arriving sooner. Her favorite corner seat was gone, so ordered her usual double shot of espresso and tentatively walked over to take the only seat left. Sitting across from the empty seat was an extremely good looking man. When he glanced up and smiled, she knew there was no way she would be able to actually read her book.
I sat in the coffee shop window, staring out of the foggy window, when the beautiful waitress brought my espresso over to me, and sat it on the table. Her long blonde hair, fell down her back, and curled slightly at the end.
I love my morning espresso so much…I just can’t do without it. And the only way I can do something equivalent outside of the house is a nice tall Starbucks…
Ted walked into the bar, scanned the room for hostile faces, and sauntered over to the counter. A dozen pair of eyes followed him.
The owner was waiting behind the counter, and stared him straight in the face. “We don’t want any more trouble…” he growled,
“Don’t worry, Bob, those days are behind me. Just give me an espresso!” Bob raised an eyebrow, and smiled. From a man capable of, – no, accustomed to downing a bottle of bourbon a night, that was a surprising order.
we get codependent sometimes
you and i
walking through the streets of Venice
seeking to be occupied
but in bits and pieces
energized
walking around, lost
spiritualized
cold, rainy, and tired
wondering if a trip 3 months in is a good idea
but your smile
that break back smile
could kill a thousand non believers
caffeinated, no sleep, no release
all we need is an espresso
there’s no x in espresso
impressed depressed conquest
i love you now, and possibly never
so let’s keep going
until it wears off.
Expresso is a sort of coffee I’ve never tasted. Kind of. You see, the fact is that I dont like coffee. Never liked it much. Oh, i do love the smell of it. but after drinking it, i feel very quesy, nauseous. I dont why that is but have to find out.
She sits there, lukewarm cup of espresso in her hands, next to the window that opens to the wet pavement and slight drizzle coming lazily from the grey sky.
Marley wanted to ask him why he always did that. She could only suppose that it was just a quirk he had, but there was a large part of her that dominated any other reasoning she had (because everyone knew that David Starkinsand was no one you should approach). No normal person had the right to put their freaking coffee on the ground when there was plenty of surface room. God. People.
Pippa shuffled down the corridor, clutching at her temples, trusting nothing. All the way to where the skinny stream of sunlight hit the window and where Harry was waiting with her espresso. The coffee jolted. A momentary rush in the flat grey form of her life.
Espresso eek! The clock has already started and this is my very first oneword item. Who knew – espresso is a perfect word to start with, given the buzz that I get from that first jolt of coffee in the morning, after a good night’s sleep, or not.
My mind percolates my thoughts,
and what spills out is espresso.
I’m an empath, but a little out of touch
with where all these specifics go.
I get lost with road maps,
but can follow 3 wise men and north stars just fine —
Sometimes all I want is to trip over time’s wrinkled carpet
back to your house
with the shoes thrown over the power line.
caffeine
the drug
the chemical
the life blood that powers all the daily doers of the world.
the cause of cerebral chaos, yet no one started a revolution over coffee tax… at least not yet.
I sit in the same coffee shop every morning, my coffee in one hand, my phone in the other. I think that maybe one day someone will come and sit down across from me. Maybe ask me about my day, my life, my hopes, my fears. But no one ever does.
Coffee is bad for the soul. It fucks with your caffeine and dopamine levels and makes things have too much up and down. I’m really thinking about the depression I have, and it seems like that first response is really influenced by trying to beat it. It’s a shame I can’t get out of my own head. Espresso does taste amazing. I can’t deny that. It has a nice smell to it. Lovely.
There she was—sitting at the small cafe at the corner table that she called hers every day. There he was—sitting near the windows as he always did. They both sipped their morning espresso and made eye contact with one another. Never speaking, only looking. Gazing into each other’s eyes and learning more through the silence than they ever imagined. She watched his hand curl around his mug as he watched her thumb through pages of the latest New York Times bestseller. Both pretended that they did not notice the other, until one day she waved him over to her perfect corner table and it became the first day of many where espresso was not enjoyed alone…
“I’d like an espresso, please,” asked the beautiful girl before me. Her outfit and stance told me that she was just another stereotypical valley girl living here in Southern California, but her tone was something different. Shaking my head to clear it, I rang up her order and headed over the start the blender for another customer. She won’t remember anything about me, but for the rest of the day, I won’t forget her.
You know, for a long, long time, I never actually wanted to try coffee. I wonder if it was actually want. I just flat out refused to try coffee. Often, I was curious, but I willfully refused to try it. Coffee does stunt your growth, or so they say.
Hello, i’m Anik. From my childhood i’m curicious about new things. I feels a lots of interest to the unknown. I want to pass my life with lots of humanity.
She wanted an espresso and a scone, and once she got what she wanted, she sauntered over to the corner table and immersed herself in a book. Almost instantly, a young gentleman was hovering over her chair, trying to make small talk. The scene was enough to make me want to crush a paper cup in my fist and then hurl the angry wad at the guy’s head, but if I were this frustrated, I could only imagine how much irritation the woman was feeling.
Every weekday at four in the afternoon, like clockwork, the girl walked in through the front doors and took a seat in the far right corner of the room. She always ordered the same thing: a shot of espresso and a strawberry cake. There was no apparent reason for her to be at the coffee shop; she wasn’t there to study or socialize. She sat in the corner of the room, sipped at her coffee, and looked out the window before finishing her cake and leaving.
I sip the espresso, feeling the cool cream whisper on my lips before the hot coffee burns them. Shuffle the papers around. Click the keys on my laptop, wait for the words to come. And they don’t. They never do. So I order another coffee, watch the sun drip down the sky, melting like a white candle fading to red.
Someday, the world will burn and I will be the only one who knows.
I was in a café and the person sitting next to me had an espresso. I had a latte. I was jealous. espressos are very very expensive. They are 10000000000000$!!!!!!!!!!! I couldn’t believe it.
The coffee shop was bustling. He had to be across the street in five minutes, ut he really needed that shot of espresso. Then he saw her, and all thoughts of his job and that meeting he was late for left his mind.
Calligraphy spoke aloud got my head bobbin like –
Double shot of espresso, match my heartbeat to my brainwaves
They be racing to get ahead of time, keeping me a brain slave
Need more addictions, need more to crave, more to crave
Slow it down, speed it up
Racing, racing towards whatever inflictions infinity has to bestow
she was walking around when she saw him, she thought that he was familiar.. and indeed he was. They went to the same college and attend to almost every class together.
The only thing Ava new about Xavier was that he was a mysterious young man, and that his family was a very important in the lawyers and hotels
Caramel kisses and
the name of a murderer
around my neck,
because I kill
everything I could love
and swallow down the
caffeine in your espresso-blood,
because that’s what addicts do–
That’s what monsters do.
(I’m sorry.)
Italian espresso and a foggy day. The last thing I knew of you burning off in the mid-afternoon sun. That brightness, that wilderness of skyscrapers. That new outlook.
It was like a train whooshing by. Amidst the blustering winds, the smell of amber espresso, the lifted pinkies bringing small cups to the moustachioed mouth.
She picks up the tiny white mug with brown-and-white swirled espresso, his hands trembling. The tiny cafe at the corner – the corner right before the sketchy ally-way – is next to empty, the only sounds being mumbled “thank you”‘s, coffee cups clinking, and footsteps not he creaking wooden floor.
Two hours ago she woke up in the park, unable to move, with nothing but a towel and a metal box of money. She doesn’t know anything except for her name and the town she’s in. She doesn’t know where her family is.
And she can’t remember anything before this night.
I remember my sister drinking espresso by a small coffee shop near our apartment. She’d told me not to drink these kind of stuff yet because I was still 10 years old. After reaching 14 years, I hated the time I tasted coffee. It tasted very bitter but it left a sweet aftertaste. It’s amazing how I can simply compare the troubles of our life with just a simple, hot drink. Maybe drinking coffee isn’t that bad, after all.
“My works is not racist…” Read the start of the Tweet from “Guy In Your MFA,” “In my next story, I describe a girl with ‘mocha’ skin, like a fair-trade latte sweetened with cinnamon and hemp milk.”
“Nice,” I sigh. “He’s the kind of guy that would call Grace Jones ‘espresso’ instead of describing her magnetism and feral stature.”
in this tiny cup, a world of sunlight and soil, water and toil. I sip so I may continue my own labor, entering into the cycle of blooming and death.
It’s nasty. The drink in her hand is disgusting, it’s bitter and not anywhere near sweet enough but he’d picked it out and this date was already going horribly enough that she didn’t have the gall to tell him he’d made an awful decision on her drink.
So she brought the paper cup to her lips, keeping her eyes trained on the man before her, his buzzed hair, his small eyes, his general air of pretentious asshole, and smiled around the plastic lid, humoring his boring story about an office worker, and took a small sip of the foam at the top of her drink.
At least the foam didn’t taste like shit.
I am not especially fond of espresso. It is just too strong. I LOVE the smell of anything coffee, but having once been a coffee drinker, I can no longer abide the flavor. I could put my head in a bag of fresh ground cover and savor the smell.
It was Sunday, so of course, the bookstore was crowded. Alison cursed under her breath for not arriving sooner. Her favorite corner seat was gone, so ordered her usual double shot of espresso and tentatively walked over to take the only seat left. Sitting across from the empty seat was an extremely good looking man. When he glanced up and smiled, she knew there was no way she would be able to actually read her book.
I sat in the coffee shop window, staring out of the foggy window, when the beautiful waitress brought my espresso over to me, and sat it on the table. Her long blonde hair, fell down her back, and curled slightly at the end.
I love my morning espresso so much…I just can’t do without it. And the only way I can do something equivalent outside of the house is a nice tall Starbucks…
Ted walked into the bar, scanned the room for hostile faces, and sauntered over to the counter. A dozen pair of eyes followed him.
The owner was waiting behind the counter, and stared him straight in the face. “We don’t want any more trouble…” he growled,
“Don’t worry, Bob, those days are behind me. Just give me an espresso!” Bob raised an eyebrow, and smiled. From a man capable of, – no, accustomed to downing a bottle of bourbon a night, that was a surprising order.
we get codependent sometimes
you and i
walking through the streets of Venice
seeking to be occupied
but in bits and pieces
energized
walking around, lost
spiritualized
cold, rainy, and tired
wondering if a trip 3 months in is a good idea
but your smile
that break back smile
could kill a thousand non believers
caffeinated, no sleep, no release
all we need is an espresso
there’s no x in espresso
impressed depressed conquest
i love you now, and possibly never
so let’s keep going
until it wears off.
Expresso is a sort of coffee I’ve never tasted. Kind of. You see, the fact is that I dont like coffee. Never liked it much. Oh, i do love the smell of it. but after drinking it, i feel very quesy, nauseous. I dont why that is but have to find out.
Mother loves her morning espresso hot. Just like everyone else, I guess. But mother is not everyone, she is the person least alike to everyone.
He watches the steam coil and curl above the contents of the espresso as the soft drizzle falls lazily outside his foggy window.
She sits there, lukewarm cup of espresso in her hands, next to the window that opens to the wet pavement and slight drizzle coming lazily from the grey sky.
She whispers, over a cup of espresso; a lost sound drowning in the loud thrum of every day’s life
His espresso sat by his desk on the floor.
Marley wanted to ask him why he always did that. She could only suppose that it was just a quirk he had, but there was a large part of her that dominated any other reasoning she had (because everyone knew that David Starkinsand was no one you should approach). No normal person had the right to put their freaking coffee on the ground when there was plenty of surface room. God. People.
Pippa shuffled down the corridor, clutching at her temples, trusting nothing. All the way to where the skinny stream of sunlight hit the window and where Harry was waiting with her espresso. The coffee jolted. A momentary rush in the flat grey form of her life.
Espresso eek! The clock has already started and this is my very first oneword item. Who knew – espresso is a perfect word to start with, given the buzz that I get from that first jolt of coffee in the morning, after a good night’s sleep, or not.
My mind percolates my thoughts,
and what spills out is espresso.
I’m an empath, but a little out of touch
with where all these specifics go.
I get lost with road maps,
but can follow 3 wise men and north stars just fine —
Sometimes all I want is to trip over time’s wrinkled carpet
back to your house
with the shoes thrown over the power line.
caffeine
the drug
the chemical
the life blood that powers all the daily doers of the world.
the cause of cerebral chaos, yet no one started a revolution over coffee tax… at least not yet.
The espresso in your hand warms your palm, a contrast to the cold, sensation filling your body.
Beside you, Yugyeom shifts and rubs his gloved-hands together.
“Cold, huh?”
“Yeah,” you say, your breath coming out in a puff of air. “Good good thing I bought this espresso.”
I sit in the same coffee shop every morning, my coffee in one hand, my phone in the other. I think that maybe one day someone will come and sit down across from me. Maybe ask me about my day, my life, my hopes, my fears. But no one ever does.
Coffee is bad for the soul. It fucks with your caffeine and dopamine levels and makes things have too much up and down. I’m really thinking about the depression I have, and it seems like that first response is really influenced by trying to beat it. It’s a shame I can’t get out of my own head. Espresso does taste amazing. I can’t deny that. It has a nice smell to it. Lovely.
There she was—sitting at the small cafe at the corner table that she called hers every day. There he was—sitting near the windows as he always did. They both sipped their morning espresso and made eye contact with one another. Never speaking, only looking. Gazing into each other’s eyes and learning more through the silence than they ever imagined. She watched his hand curl around his mug as he watched her thumb through pages of the latest New York Times bestseller. Both pretended that they did not notice the other, until one day she waved him over to her perfect corner table and it became the first day of many where espresso was not enjoyed alone…
“I’d like an espresso, please,” asked the beautiful girl before me. Her outfit and stance told me that she was just another stereotypical valley girl living here in Southern California, but her tone was something different. Shaking my head to clear it, I rang up her order and headed over the start the blender for another customer. She won’t remember anything about me, but for the rest of the day, I won’t forget her.
You know, for a long, long time, I never actually wanted to try coffee. I wonder if it was actually want. I just flat out refused to try coffee. Often, I was curious, but I willfully refused to try it. Coffee does stunt your growth, or so they say.
Hello, i’m Anik. From my childhood i’m curicious about new things. I feels a lots of interest to the unknown. I want to pass my life with lots of humanity.
I love the smell of espresso. Me time. It reminds me of Italy. Pretty coffee cups. Best espresso is Illy. Meeting friends. Start of the day. Rituals!
She wanted an espresso and a scone, and once she got what she wanted, she sauntered over to the corner table and immersed herself in a book. Almost instantly, a young gentleman was hovering over her chair, trying to make small talk. The scene was enough to make me want to crush a paper cup in my fist and then hurl the angry wad at the guy’s head, but if I were this frustrated, I could only imagine how much irritation the woman was feeling.
Every weekday at four in the afternoon, like clockwork, the girl walked in through the front doors and took a seat in the far right corner of the room. She always ordered the same thing: a shot of espresso and a strawberry cake. There was no apparent reason for her to be at the coffee shop; she wasn’t there to study or socialize. She sat in the corner of the room, sipped at her coffee, and looked out the window before finishing her cake and leaving.
I sip the espresso, feeling the cool cream whisper on my lips before the hot coffee burns them. Shuffle the papers around. Click the keys on my laptop, wait for the words to come. And they don’t. They never do. So I order another coffee, watch the sun drip down the sky, melting like a white candle fading to red.
Someday, the world will burn and I will be the only one who knows.
I was in a café and the person sitting next to me had an espresso. I had a latte. I was jealous. espressos are very very expensive. They are 10000000000000$!!!!!!!!!!! I couldn’t believe it.