Morning Coffee

It sounds obvious, but consider anyway. Every single moment on this
planet, there is always a certain moment for that certain person.
Dragging farm animals, shipping boxes, typing notes, strolling
distantly, walking lazily, sleeping distractedly, feeding children,
crying blood, plotting reward.
Where is this certain person, at the every single moment that is now?
The moment when he knows just where, who, and what he is. It's got to
be 8am somewhere, and the moment sparks. It sparks brightly, suddenly,
terrifyingly, pacifyingly??
??As he steps onto his workaday bus, the first step in his workaday
journey, thinking. "I'm an indispensable cogwheel in a necessary and
perfect machine, a randomly doom ridden, heavenly real universe of
circles."
He sits down, yawns, and the next thought pops into his head. "Ruby
Tuesday, I need a coffee."
The lusty smell, that beany, beautifully musty, tasteful, flavoursome,
fulsome liquid pouring divinely from its sleek and solid glass
container, filling to the depths his homely mug. The smoky heat rising
lazily, sensuously from the freshly conceived brew.
"Where was I?" he thinks, a day's coffee drinking ahead of him, and the
machine shrinks.
"Oh yes", comes the supersubconcious remembrance of just where he
was.
"I'm an expendable cogwheel, in a ridiculous and wasteful organization,
a randomly exploitative, crushingly inflexible, financial
lottery."
He looks out the window, rubs his eyes, and sees?? "So many
cars!"
All crouched side by side like lazy beasts, unmoving, yet trickling as
if to and from infinity, spewing black soot, grubby windows, dead
faces, colourless grey overpasses, police regulation of traffic flow,
bumping, rubbing, scraping, squashed, black soot clouds ever
rising.
The bus lurches forward, the first time in countable minutes, and he
focuses on an oversized Range Rover that pulls up along side his bus.
He sighs.
"Next year, maybe." His mouth salivates soothingly to the tune of his
dream.
The black and bulky steel frame, his face protruding from within the
long shadows of the tinted, millennium sized windshield, glasses glad
and donning a cool, arrogant smirk, his foot resting assuredly on a
roaring lioness, his hands gripping that leather buxom wheel, and the
chain underneath winds powerfully, an ex-Soviet tank, crushing those
officious little southern rebels bones as they foolishly attempt to
re-assert their ancient independence. "Out of the way, or I'll squeeze
your little Honda Civics into clattered pieces of modern art!"
His rationality turns against him in a sudden obliterating
moment.
"Stop it, stop it!" He cries to himself. "What's the matter with you?
They're just people too, like you."
RING, RING, RING.
The bell for the stopping bus rings him back to his senses. The large
doors swoop mechanically open to reveal the central shopping district,
the location of his place of coffee drinking, and full to the brim with
similar people with similar designs on drinking coffee in the immediate
future.
The machine shrinks further, and perhaps the certain moment is over. He
contemplates the swarming mass of similar beings that lie between him
and his coffee drinking, as his foot steps from the bus and into the
maelstrom.
"I'm a vulnerable substance, mixed by causal certainty in an
indefinable pond of moving cogwheels, all pushing in indeterminable
directions with a similar casual, yet unknowable destination."
An image floats to the front of his consciousness. A well lived in room
with desks, and a coffeepot just about ready for pouring. Adjacent
images fill the minds of a hundred other people as they bump and grind
past each other through the gargantuan storm like complexity of the
central shopping district. A season of addicts, a month of occupations,
a zodiac of professions, all in the soup bowl of the central shopping
district, all with the unstoppable thought of the first coffee of the
day. Rushing, pushing, shoving, ducking, diving, pulling, getting off
buses, out of taxis, riding bikes, driving cars, sprinting late,
strolling early, smoking pre-coffee refreshments.
The morning coffee is just a footstep away, and this certain moment
ends with it.