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The Coffee Heist
Desire as petty theft before dawn.
The bag lifted before dawn — not profit, the ritual of a small theft while grind and water still pretended marriage.
Beans scattered: evidence of careless want. Kneeling, each bean named a reason to return to bed and none taken.
The grinder knew. It always knows — small metal verdict, humming while the thief insisted caffeine, not the kitchen that wasn’t theirs yet, not the pulse arguing with dark.
Empires rebuild in cups. This is not empire. Only minutes stolen from whoever they’re owed — including the self that keeps pouring.
You still pour another.
JV · Dark Heart Labs