2%

I sat at the table like a grown-up today.

Real chair, real spoon. No standing over the sink

like a thief in my own kitchen.

But the carton felt... weighted. Heavy.

It felt like it was holding a grudge.

I tipped it over the mug and the coffee

just gave up. White islands, jagged and flat,

floated to the surface like a map

of a place where nobody speaks the language.

It wasn't even sour yet—not really—

just thick.

The cap has that crusty yellow ring

on the plastic threads. I touched it.

I don't know why I touch things like that.

It felt like a scab that shouldn't be there.