Its 1pm on Saturday and I'm sitting at Puccino's in Toorak Village waiting for my breakfast to arrive. I look around at it strikes me that there are basically 2 sorts of people who eat their breakfast at a cafe at 1pm on a Saturday.

First there are people who at the moment are utterly content. People who have woken up this morning after sleeping late. People who have woken up this morning perhaps with their limbs intertwined with someone else's and have stayed like this for several hours because it feels good. People who have lain there and savoured the full glorious weekend stretching out before them and not minded that it is already slipping away. People who have eventually left their bed and resolved to go and have breakfast at a cafe where they can sit and contentedly watch the world go by.

Then there are people who have woken up this morning and immediately retreated back into unconsciousness from the empty void of the weekend stretching before them. People who have lain there semi-conscious for hours because they cant quite face activity or thought right now. People who eventually crawl out of bed because otherwise the whole day will slip away like this. People who have resolved to go and get breakfast at a cafe because you must eat, you have to eat and they cant even summon the motivation to cook something themselves and besides if they don't find a reason to go out then they could easily spend the whole weekend without leaving this apartment. People who sit in the cafe and gaze at people of the other type and want to reach out and break apart their cosy little world, to visit it with unpleasantness and discontent simply because they can remember a time when they too used to sit at cafes with that dopey contented look on their face. People like me.

My breakfast arrives with the short mac I ordered. I have noticed my tastes in coffee have evolved recently. I always used to be a flat white kind of guy or maybe a latte if I felt daggy enough. Something milky with some sugar. Now though, I drink serious coffee. short macs, short blacks, ristrettos - the shorter the better and absolutely no sugar. I love them. I savour them. I seem to revel in the bitterness.

It is only later that the metaphor occurs to me.

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