Gravity's on more than usual today and the tile is unforgiving to the gawky limbs in my shoulder sockets that keep dropping my favorite ****. My ******* flower mug. My flower mug, with the two-finger handle. With the hazelnut and vanilla and almond and Columbian dark dark roast. With the "goodmorning" and "hows life?" "Fine." Lifey, isn't it? And I'll be peeling super glue off my fingers for days even though I know it won't hold what it's meant to anymore (Who does?) Maybe it'll start a penny collection someday. (Who knows?) And I'll wait in a silence with which I'm well-acquainted. I know if you break it, you buy it, but I'm broke.