After a wine-inspired and therefor enlightened writing session, I resolved not to rely on a drug to help me write. It felt a little as if I was an athlete using steroids.
I sit here now, however, with a very serious macchiato.
I always want to cry when I see how tiny a portion of a shot of espresso is. However, when done right, each sip lingers longer than it is dark. Its heat warms my gelid hands, enabling them to type. It's rich burnt-caramel color inspires a creative surge. It's caffeine awakens my writing moxie.
"It this allowed?" I ask myself.
Without any further ado, I sip, and write on.