I woke up in Franks house again this morning. He has an apartment on the ground floor. I stay there when working in Ft. Worth.
I made my way to the kitchen, pressed the button on that machine that spits out one cup of coffee per press, and waited for coffee to dispense. After the cycle finished, the machine popped up a message on the screen: "Enjoy!"
My first thought was, "Don't tell me what to do."
My second was along the lines of: How can I enjoy a cup of coffee that is spit through a plastic pod, recently punctured by the jaw-like "pod-receiver." It's wasteful. I do not like these machines. I do not want to follow orders and - "Enjoy!"
Yet, I do.
I do enjoy.
It's a good cup of coffee - not great, but good.
I left before Frank got up.
I drove to try and get a witness to sign a declaration. She wasn't home. I drove to another witnesses house to drop off a copy of the declaration they signed yesterda. He wasn't home. I took one last shot at a neighborhood canvas. Found the one witness - the person who saw the whole thing - in his front yard, mowing. I stopped. We chatted.
By noon I'd accomplished more than a lot of people get done in eight hours on a weekday. Frank and I stood on the rooftop deck and toasted the fact that we love this work.
I stopped at the wine bar in Dallas Love Field on my way home. I ordered a glass of Tempranillo. The bartender - as she slid wine in my direction - said:
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