Feb. 12th, 2006

theranger: (Default)
... that made Aragorn feel he was truly, completely out of place in this world, unskilled to cope with it.

He sighed, resisting the urge to use his fist to shatter the coffeemaker. Why was it that this morning the damn thing wouldn't drip the water down into the filter he'd duly filled with coffee powder the way he'd been shown to do?

He'd come to love coffee, had come to rely on the kick it gave to his body first thing in the morning, on the bitter taste of it stinging his tongue. But above all he was addicted to the scent of it. The explosion of it when he got the tin out of the fridge and opened it to scoop the stuff out, the warm fragrance wafting up as drop after drop made it through the coffee powder down into the jug...

He poked the machine, checked the plug and made a frustrated sound.

He so wanted a mug of coffee and he wanted it now.

June 2007

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