At 6:30, a cup of coffee with cream and hints of sugar. Let my tongue float on the muddy brown with eyes closed, slipping into consciousness. Safety lives inside this paper cup. Comraderie, comfort, security. All the heft of a single day balanced against my lips. And with a slight tilt of the wrist, spills back into the throat, and sails through circulatory seas to those far-off synapses who fire a cheer of welcome. Too many miles until sleep. Because. We accept this.