Over a Cup of Coffee
I picked up the cup and swished the liquid in a circle, hoping to dislodge the dark chocolate spots that were talking to me. The globs wobbled back and forth, and I thought it had worked. Then the swirling slowed, and I could see the coffee face reset itself.
“Cut that out,” it said, “It makes everything go all blurry, and I get motion sickness.”
“You get motion sickness from being a liquid?”
“Brownian motion. Listen. They’ve found you.”
“I already could tell that,” I said, looking up at the lights dimming, the people around me fading into the background. “What am I supposed to do? You’re a cup of coffee.”
“Hey, I don’t pick these things. I keep asking to come back as a lion, but there’s always someone who gets there before me.” I picked up the coffee cup, careful not to spill any and looked around. “I’ve been thinking about getting out of this Hindu business. Maybe Judaism, more consistency.”
I was completely alone in the blackness, like a stage with a single spotlight.