roasted at midnight.

I'm walking inside the back door and see a semi-familiar figure walking through the hall way and out the door. The silhouette is distorted by the two big boxes that she is carrying, but I'd know the God perfected curls from a mile away.

She's practically out of breath as she scrambles out into the cool dampness of the night.

"It's an emergency!" she lets out. And I know exactly what she's in need of.

"...I can give you some coffee..."

"Really?"

"Yea, please. It's above the microwave."

Steph. She roasts her own beans in a popcorn popper. Thus, she carried her load downstairs at the stroke of midnight so she would have coffee for the morning. I admire her dedication, and I know the feeling, but I'm glad I was there to save her the lack of sleep in which she almost had to endure.

 "How much does a hipster weigh? 

An instigram. Here, take my picture!

Boom! Am I me or am I my mom!? 

...I don't know."

<3