The Button I Definitely Pressed

It’s morning.

Your brain is still buffering.

But you — brave and delusional — head straight for the espresso maker.

You tell yourself:

“Hit the one-shot button.

The ONE-shot.

Don’t screw this up.”

You nod with confidence you did not earn.

Toast Level: Lightly Toasted

You turn your back for what seemed like only three seconds.

Just long enough to grab a mug.

Just long enough to check your phone.

Just long enough for fate to intervene.

You hear a sound.

A suspiciously robust sound.

You turn around frantically, hoping this is one of those fever dreams where reality is negotiable and physics is optional.

Toast Level: Extra Crispy

The espresso machine is humming triumphantly,

finishing its cycle like it just won an award.

Espresso is cascading everywhere —

down the machine,

into the safety tray,

over the counter,

onto the floor.

You know it’s too late.

A Caffeinated Crime Scene.

Toast Level: Burnt Ash

The cat looks away in disgust.

You stare at the machine, betrayed.

You stare at the puddle, defeated.

You stare at the cat, concerned.

You whisper to no one: “…I pressed the one-shot button.”

The machine whispers back: “No you didn’t.”