Novelas y relatos de John Mulaney One Black Coffee

Julian descended the stairs like a man walking into battle. Jamie was already there. Sitting at the island counter in a faded hoodie and joggers, hair still damp from his own shower, nursing a mug. He didn’t look up when Julian entered. Just stared into the black liquid like it held answers. Julian poured himself coffee. Black. No sugar. Stood at the opposite end of the counter. Distance. Always distance. “Morning,” he said. Voice neutral. Jamie’s fingers tightened around the mug. “Morning.” Silence stretched. Thick. Familiar.

Teil responds while taking a turn down the lonely street, "Loreen Murphy is dead." ----

He turned around and leaned on the countertop. “He’s talking to me,” Bethany murmured softly, her eyes on Bob. “Excuse me,” she winked at me and gave Callahan a polite nod before she walked past us. Callahan scoffed. “Is this the only pantry here?” “Ugh! No.” He looked at his cup and hissed. “I hate black coffee,” he murmured as he pulled a chair. “Let me explain -” “No, let me explain,” Bethany sighed, wrapping her palms around the cup.

hе muttеrеd. Gwеn's jaw droppеd. "Black coffее? Nathan, arе you sеrious? Wе'rе in a placе whеrе food is prеparеd by culinary wizards, and you want black coffее?" Nathan, a man of fеw words, simply scoffеd. It was a scoff that said, "I'm too cool for fancy foo-foo drinks, Gwеn."

He was dressed in a black suit and a long black coat. The baby at the back seat of the SUV stared at his father, giggling and tapping on the halfed cracked window continuously. The man tapped back with his knuckles and sighed. "Just going to get a coffee, little man. Be back in a sec" He entered the cafe and stared at the coffee menu. *Now, should I have black with one sugar, or two? I certainly need something strong* He paused and scratched the back of his head. *Nah. I need something sweet with all the bitter going on in my life right now. So, with sugar, milk and whipped cream?*

The one behind marking the parking lines did a very terrible job. In hand, I carried a shopping bag, in it my previous worn clothes, my phone and car keys. I took out my phone and dialed on the number I got from Marlon. I just hoped the guy would accept my coffee date. It was almost six in the evening. Caffeine wasn't such a bad idea. I waited patiently for the person on the other end to receive. "If it isn't the police themselves. I guess word already reached you." The person on the other end said. His voice, a deep Irish lilt,was too familiar.

“I think I should be the one apologising.” “Apologising for what?” “For not showing up. I completely forgot. I am so sorry for wasting your time.” “Oh,” he says, “that is okay. I figured that you were too busy.” We enter the café. Malik orders plain black coffee and a scone. I order coffee with lots of milk and sugar. “You are not getting a pie or scone with that?” Malik asks, surprised at my order. “Nope,” I tell him, “I am just fine with coffee.”

“Are you serious? Their coffee tastes like strained dog shit. Plus, who’s dumb enough to pay four bucks for a cup of burned coffee?” “Lots of folks, apparently. Them damn stores are everywhere. You’d think those people were drinkin’ liquid gold, they’re so obsessed with havin’ that same brand every morning.” “Not me. They’re a bunch of sheep. Give me a plain old cup of joe—black—and I’m a happy camper.” Channing snickered. “Or I’d be happy if this camper had a Mr. Coffee.” Colby smoothed a wayward curl behind her ear. “We’ll get you fixed up. I can’t have my best girl cranky at the crack of dawn, now can I? You comin’ to watch us today, Chan?”

The bell on the door chimed again, as another customer entered the Moon Cafe. The young man who previously entered, now stood in front the cafe counter, where a barista greeted him, with a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon, sir. What would you like to order?” the barista asked, ready to assist. The young man took a moment to glance at the big menu above the barista counter as if contemplating his options, and after a brief silence, he finally spoke, “I will go with a black coffee, please. Without sugar,” he said, his voice calm, yet decisive.

he said. I looked away quickly… was it hot in here on something? “Shut the fuck up,” I muttered and turned away. He had the audacity to shrug, “Well, I guess it is your loss then.” Smug son of a bitch. Desmond walked straight to the coffee machine and made himself a coffee, and guess what, it was all black coffee, no milk, no sugar…. It was absolutely disgusting. “You know that only psychopaths drink their coffee like that, don’t you?” I said, and he arched his brows at me, “and you are drinking hot chocolate like you don’t care for diabetes. How even old are you, drinking chocolate like a fucking kid?”