I dig the 5-cup coffee maker from it’s resting place on the counter and open the lid.  What do I see?

A mold farm.

Those little green spots that permeate the grounds are dumped into the trash, and the small basket is washed in dishwater containing a teaspoon of bleach.

Next, the pot is thoroughly rinsed.

In goes the new filter and enough coffee grounds to keep Seattle awake for the next 3 hours.

Ah, the sound of percolation, the scent of sanity emerging from a substance trickling into the pot much too slowly.

After 3 excruciatingly long minutes, I pour 1/2 the pot into a 20 oz cup and fill the rest with Equate nutritional supplement.

Breakfast is served!

What is this I taste?  An unfamiliar bitter edge hits the tongue as my nostrils take in the slightly pungent scent of mold.

I fight with the urge to dump it, but my mind says, “Zen out…there’s not enough in this cup to kill you.”

The people in the stilt house are shooting something, possibly targets or perhaps each other.  It’s a high-pitched “pop, pop, pop.”  I take a swig of mellow and listen to another neighbor fire two shots that are loud and deep, their way of telling that neighbor, “I’m sick of your S#!t.”

Meditation music plays to a shotgun symphony in the background.

I’m now ready to work at home.