The most difficult part of my day is waking

The most difficult part of my day is waking up. And no, I don't mean getting out of bed. I mean *waking up*.

. .without Folger's in my cup. I'd run out & the corner market didn't have any either, so I was forced to get Brand X coffee. No matter how many cups I guzzled, I was in a daze

& I was confused. "The best part of waking up...is Brand X in your cup..." I sang, but it didn't have the same ring to it. My head was muddled & I felt like I might die. Folger's

" "Black, dark, coarse. Hot. Cold." Ned twisted, then kicked a bag. Hugged himself. Gurgled. "Good to the last drop." A giant globe fell on him. Ned's interpretative coffee dance

was like a cross between an ancient Egyptian ritual and an inmate trying to escape from a locked cell. He sweated and gyrated in a caffeine fueled delirium. Then he wet himself.

All of this was recorded to satiate the sick desires of future Earth. His drug frenzy was humanity's entertainment. And when he decides to stop and go sane, his managers

Were faced with lower sales of tickets, so they pulled another zombie off the street to replace him. This dude was a serious meth-burger addict. He sold them on street corners.

He sold them in speakeasies. He sold them to floozies and men. He sold them to memories of time that never were.

The floozies and men paid cash. The memories didn't even pay attention, as they were lost in the vast sea of time.