From time to time I encounter the opinion that writing is a matter of taking the most mundane aspects of life and conveying them in such a way as to evoke strong feelings in the reader. So I figured I'd test that theory by the following procedure: write a story based on the prompt suggested by the poster above you, then suggest a prompt of your own for the next poster. The prompt must concern something totally ordinary, like making coffee. I'll start, with "making coffee": David lay in bed, eyes forced open by the ascending daylight. It was ten in the morning, three hours since he awoke, three hours since he had begun watching the shadows of cars leap across the spiked textures of his ceiling. He was deeply involved in his bedsheets and would have had to muster an unusually great effort to conquer them, so he decided to give himself another two hours’ time before getting up. These two hours went by, and at last he untangled himself and arose to make coffee. His sink was a mess of dirty dishes, the bowls on top embroidered with coagulated spaghetti sauce. He poured yesterday morning’s wet coffee grains into the sink; they peppered the stagnant water and then danced off the rims of the bowls as he turned on the faucet. Long, skinny arms handled the coffeepot with a clumsiness that had persisted through thousands of successive morning sacraments. Even as he poured the cooled water into the coffeemaker, some leaked over onto the countertop; after he was done, he remedied the spill with the final two squares of paper towel that sat expectantly on the stove. At last, it was time to supply the coffee; David unruffled a leftover filter and placed it carefully into the top of the coffeemaker, following with five and a half spoonfuls of dark roast coffee procured from a small, cylindrical tin can. He closed the lid, pressed “Brew,” and let his thoughts absorb him once again as he looked out the window. Soon enough, the momentary silence was interrupted by the loudening whir of the coffeemaker, followed by a succession of sizzles and drips. David didn’t wait for the coffee to finish dripping; once a cup’s worth of coffee had arrived in the pot, he removed the latter and poured the former into an unadorned mug. The coffeemaker, failing to notice that the pot was missing, continued to drip, and a crust of burnt coffee began to develop on the circular heating pad before becoming eclipsed by the pot as David initiated the search for half-and-half in his refrigerator. Finding some buried behind the heavy ceramic tray of leftover spaghetti, he reached his hand into the artificially cool air and groped around until achieving a firm grasp on the carton. He pulled out the carton, uncorking it and dumping its leftover contents into his mug. The heat from the coffee caused the cream to twirl and blend with the surrounding darkness. David removed a spoon from the dishwasher, washed it off, and used it to consummate the union between coffee and cream. EDIT: Funnily enough, I forgot to include a new prompt. That prompt is "visiting the grocery store."