For three days now, he awoke to find an empty coffee pot.
For three days he had been forced to brew a fresh pot before being able to sit on the steps, gather his thoughts and become human again, in the perfect warmth of the morning sun.
This particular morning he watched her pour it.
Not quite all of it. A small sip remained at the bottom, just enough to tease his craving.
He was sure that in some places this was grounds for divorce.
Not here though. Here he was left with only two choices.
Love or a bludgeon.
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