“I just want a hot cup of coffee,black,and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.”

“That’s it,” Mabel said, getting up. She tossed her napkin on the table. “No. That is not right. I don’t know what you just said, but whatever it was, I’m pretty certain it was pure hokum. I don’t want to dance. I don’t want to hear about your plans for a summer house. I am not your sister. And if I were your sister, I’d have to tell people you’d been adopted as an act of charity. Please, don’t get up.”

“What do you want?""Just coffee. Black - like my soul.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? I’ll make you coffee and ask you about your day.”

“Somehow, the Good Lord don't want to see no man start a cold morning with just black coffee.”

“Fueled by my inspiration, I ran across the room to steal the cup of coffee the bookshelf had taken prisoner. Lapping the black watery brew like a hyena, I tossed the empty cup aside. I then returned to the chair to continue my divine act of creation. Hot blood swished in my head as my mighty pen stole across the page.”