Mabel poured the church coffee after the Wednesday meeting, and everybody knew to hold the cup with both hands.
It was not weak coffee. It was not friendly coffee. It was the kind of coffee that looked back at you.
Harold took one sip, blinked twice, and set the cup down.
“Mabel,” he said, “this coffee is so strong it needs its own driver’s license.”
The whole table laughed.
Mabel folded her arms and looked proud.
“Good,” she said. “Then maybe it can drive some of you home before you ask for a second cup.”
Harold picked the cup back up.
“In that case,” he said, “I better finish it. I parked two blocks away.”
