Buggy

Stayed up way too late last night. The culprits were a couple of writing projects and the first Godfather movie.

I woke up at an obscene late hour and stumbled to the local coffee hole with my New York Times to protect me. Got a cup of joe, maybe a goodie and sat down to read my paper. I am cherishing this ritual since I expect to be working soon. Each sip, ink smudge and surly barista glare are precious to me. Especially on a morning that nearly starts in the afternoon.

As I removed the rubber band from my rolled up paper and unfurled it, a lovely beetle sauntered out from the inside of the pages onto the table as if this were the next stop on his own personal bus route. He was one of those plain guys with a very cool antennae array that could probably receive 500 channels. What a delight! He had no hesitation as he left the paper. Just walked across the table and onto his next transfer point. A pastry, perhaps.

Although I often feel transported by my morning newspaper ritual, it's rarely so literal for me as for my insect pal.