She loved coffee and cigarettes equally. The milky cylinders and the liquid black as a tray full of ashes were her oldest, dearest friends. She’d come to depend on the dark, velvety steam to entice her out of bed every morning and the sultry smoke to keep her idle hands occupied.
Then she met a man who taught yoga and shunned stimulants. He only drank mineral water so she cast aside her cigarettes and her travel mug. He filled the void left by her two friends. Dreams of drinking him in coaxed her out of bed every morning, but that slowly faded like smoke.
When he left her he said she’d been too tired and grumpy in the mornings and she had a distracting habit of fidgeting with pencils and pens.
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