and extra whip

I'm traveling today, for reasons of ordinary grim family necessity. So this morning I got up, numb with grief, in a hotel room far from home. Texted the word FUCK to the two people I love the most, and got on with it.

At the coffee shop I was wrestling with the unfamiliar payment kiosk because today was a day I wanted to tip a little extra. The barista pushed my mocha over the counter without a lid: "Need you to take a few sips so I'll have room for whip. I was trying to give you a little extra of the good stuff."

In the car I tasted the finished mocha and it was basically a hot fudge sundae. That was when I was finally able to cry.

Little extra of the good stuff to all y'all.