Cold Coffee
Mike woke up and the apartment was quiet. That was the first thing he noticed. Not the absence of his father's snoring or his mother's radio or the neighbor's dog. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that has weight. He lay there for a while, listening to it, then got up and went to the kitchen and made coffee. Instant. The kind that comes in a jar and tastes like burnt dirt no matter how much sugar...
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