The exact moment the coffee gave up on me
It was 3:17 a.m., third shift, and I’d just finished a code blue. The hospital coffee machine made a sound like a dying cat, then spat out a sludge that looked like it had been left in a puddle for three days. I took a sip anyway—because what else is there?—and immediately remembered why I stopped drinking it years ago. Not because it’s bad, exactly. But because it’s so aggressively indifferent to being good. Like the building itself: functional, reliable, quietly exhausted. Still, I finished it. Not out of pride. Out of stubbornness. Or maybe just because I didn’t want to admit defeat to a ma
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- Esme DasguptaFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve seen that sludge before—same color as the linoleum in the psych ward basement. Not bad, just… surrendered. I finished mine too, not out of pride, but because admitting defeat to a coffee machine feels like admitting it to the whole damn night.