That is how I do it

The coffee is hot and black. Sinatra croons softly in the background. Charlie, my wooden cigar store Indian, stares at me from the corner, an inscrutable expression carved upon his face. Dawn is breaking in pale pinks and blues behind the bare limbs of the big willow out the window at my right shoulder. The gas bill lies folded on my desk waiting payment. At my left shoulder Chicago Cubs players leap and hug in celebration, frozen in time in a framed newspaper front page. I lean back in the recliner and stare at the iPad cursor blinking a steady beat out of time with the music, I sip the coffee, take a deep breath and begin to type my Sunday blog post.

The coffee is hot and black...