The fifty two and a half year old woman sighed heavily because her coffee had gotten cold. Oh sure, she could feel the buzz from the half pot she had already drunk that morning, but the stuff on her desk was cold and that was a problem. Cold coffee sucks.
Cold coffee particularly sucks when there’s a lot of cogitation to accomplish.
She took a sip anyhow. Then she took a gulp. Then she tried to define that peculiar, almost metallic aftertaste that cold coffee with soy milk gets.
Then she decided to get on with it.
Note to my darling readers:
This is the beginning of Auntie’s NaNoWriMo. Yes, really.
While it picks up from there, you should know that your Auntie is looking out for you, therefore I promise to try not to post any of the rest of it.
You’re welcome.
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