FlickrBlogging: Turkish Coffee
She invited me in. While I sat in front of the fire, fumbling toward satori as I let my mind vanish in the perfect randomness of the flames, she bustled about in the kitchen. A dim corner of my mind, ignored, heard the rattle of metal on metal as she retrieved a tiny pot from its niche deep within a cupboard.
The last log had shriveled into hot white coals by the time she came into the den with two thimbles of strong, sweet coffee. I'd never tasted anything so fine, I told her. It's Turkish coffee, she told me.
In silence, listening to the hiss and crackle of wood turning to ash and vapor, we drank.
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See? I knew you'd be good at this.
I couldn't find anything that inspired me enough to write a story. Just Mr. and Mrs. Snappy-in-Silk.
It was rather fun, I have to say.
As far as "no inspiration": You must've missed this guy (warning: not safe for my brain).
Patrick, well done! And welcome to the fold—I'll post a link.