Beans are ground, their rich aroma fills the kitchen.
A a spoon is heated, the flick of the lighter echoes in the alley.
Water is drawn, heated and passed through a filter, steam forms.
A solution is pulled into syringe, a ligature tightens on an arm.
A cup is filled.
A vein is found.
Coffee passes the lips.
Heroin enters the blood.
One man wakes up.
One man falls asleep.
7 comments:
Coffee's my drug; I can smell it cause I'm awake!
It sounds like you've had a discouraging weekend......are you okay Peter?
I'm fine Joyce, I was just musing on the relationship between ritual and drug use, it fascinates me. Even smokers have a highly ritualized way in which they handle the lit cigarette.
When you open a bottle of wine there is this whole procedure, chilling, uncorking, allowing it to breath, pouring. We don't take that much care with a can of orange soda.
I'm fine, no need to stage an intervention, just don't come between me and my coffee! :)
:)
the comments were just as entertaining as the post.
so funny to read this at this moment. just minutes before i clicked on the link to your blog, brac came in to prepare the coffee maker for his morning coffee before work. whenever he does, i can smell the coffee all the way in the dining room from the kitchen. and i smell it now as i read your post. wow, you're good!
:)
i love this shot, by the way. did you use your macro setting?
Hi Peter, thanks for following my blog. I saw you earlier on Joyces one. I think you make the most wonderful pictures (as I just check out on picassa) real stunning. Keep up the good job. And we will be in touch.
Dagmar
i do not drink coffee but my husband enjoys a good cuppa. i love the aroma that drifts up into the bedroom on a sunday morning when i am still sleepily trying to wake up.
your thoughts on rituals are powerful.
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