After a few sips, I left my coffee on the counter to have a shower. Dark arabica, no sugar, one third full cream milk, sitting in my favourite green and white striped fat teacup. When I came back, it was cold, a little flocculated, and there was a fly floating in the middle of the milky mess. A young one. Fragile looking. Quite dead. "Oh shit," I said. "There's a fly in my coffee." Then I stuck my finger in, index, right hand, fished it out, flicked it and finished my coffee.
Summer critters, 1/3.
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Silent Sunday 7/15 — Midsummer Moon
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