So I was wrong. The world did end, as predicted, at 6:11 a.m. this morning. Yet I awoke to find everything the same, and was pretty okay with that.
But then. Ah, then I stumbled upon the ugly(?) truth. The world did end, and was replaced with an exact replica. However, the time bandits who did all that replacing were not rigorous enough in their job.
Every morning, I make coffee with my stovetop espresso machine. I ground the beans, filled the machine with cold water and grounds, and plopped it upon its usual burner. The frothy goodness filled the chamber, and I poured it out, swirled in some cream. As I stood, cup in hand, and gazed out upon the back yard, I felt a disturbance in the force.
It was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever made. Earthy, just a hint of bitter, rich and full of complex flavors. And I’ve probably made several thousand espressos by now. Everything was the same: same beans, same machine, same everything.
Then I looked down at my slippers. Blue suede.
I’m liking this new world.