For the first time in his life, he believed his opinion mattered. People would listen. Lives would be changed. The world would become a better place.
Robert went into the kitchen and reached for a bag of Guatemalan Fair Trade coffee beans, smiling to himself. Pouring the beans into the hand grinder he inherited from his grandfather, he measured the right amount with his mind. No need for scoops. He knew what was best.
Turning the handle of the grinder in a steady, confident motion, he looked out the kitchen window. His neighbor Mrs. Grumsfeld was weeding her rose garden. Her wide-brimmed straw hat with the red ribbon reminded him of his grandmother, God rest her soul. If only she could be here to see him today.
At the appointed time, the grinding stopped. He placed a filter in the basket, emptied the grounds from the wooden drawer and affixed it in place. Moving to the refrigerator, he reached for the pitcher of filtered water. Closing one eye, he filled the maker to the four cup mark, closed the lid and pressed the “on” button. A ritual as meaningful as prayer. Done to perfection to produce the perfect results.
Mrs. Grumsfeld was kneeling beside her bushes, looking up at the empty sky. She was clenching her straw hat to her chest. Motionless. Her knees covered in earth. Unnoticed.
As the coffee perked, Robert picked up his laptop and plucked the keys as a poetic performance.
“WordPress.com” he repeated as he typed.
“Start a New Blog.” He grinned and pressed “Enter.”