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Andy folded his paper and picked up the cup. It was best to keep the cup in one's hand during this time -- the warmth from the cup could be more fully enjoyed that way. He held the cup up to his face and breathed in the steam. The scent was intoxicating -- slightly chocolaty with just a hint of the naturally acidic aroma of the coffee itself. He took a long drink and closed his eyes, letting the coffee flow into him and warm him from the inside.

He finished the cup within three minutes and continued to hold the cup for as long as it retained some warmth. After another minute or so, he set the cup down on the table and got up to go to the restroom.

Andy looked around the men's room. It was small but fairly clean, except for the graffiti on the wall by the toilet. Most of it was the typical bathroom banter, but once in a while, he read something that didn't seem to make any sense. "Damn beatniks," he muttered, "They can't even write graffiti that makes sense." There were a few places where the graffiti had been scratched out by someone named Joe Hammerstrom -- he had signed his entire name. Andy was a little puzzled by this. As confused as he was by some of the scrabblings on the wall, he wouldn't think to deface it. It was like the poetry of the coffee house itself -- a less glamorous form of literature, granted, but it served a purpose nonetheless. He decided to add to one of the less sophomoric threads of conversation. The main thread of conversation seemed to be between two people -- j.r., and b.s. Andy pulled out a pen and scribbled "There are queer folk about -- j.r." He laughed. It was a line that he remembered from a book he had read as a kid. It didn't make any sense, but then again, neither did most of the rest of the wall-poetry.

When Andy got back out to his table, he found his newspaper where he had left it, but his cup was full and steaming.

"What the hell?" he said, sitting down. He looked over at the refill counter. The girl who had given him the free mug was standing behind it polishing a mug. He smiled at her and raised his glass. She smiled back and raised a glass in return. "She must have felt really bad about me spilling the first one," he thought, picking up the mug and sipping it. It was just the right temperature, and she had put in just the right amount of cream, sugar, and other fixins -- just like his first cup -- a little too sweet, but not overbearing. He held the cup for a moment, feeling its warmth. Maybe not everyone here was a money-grubbing swine.

He put his coffee down on the table and picked up his paper, scanning through the classifieds. Andy taught part-time at the local community college. The hours weren't bad, but the pay was horrible. He needed to find something full-time. There were a lot of ads for teachers, but nothing permanent -- he wasn't sure he wanted to teach for the rest of his life anyway. He had been interested in starting his own business doing freelance computer consultation, but he didn't have the know-how to start a business on his own, so he was looking for something he could do to help him learn the ins and outs of the business.