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Should Have Gone for the Head

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For the past few months, there’s been this nagging bitterness clinging to my morning pour-over — a sour note that spoiled the ritual I’ve so carefully built. The beans were single-origin, the grinder perfectly calibrated, the water triple-filtered and kissed by mountain air. But still, each sip carried a sting that no amount of tasting notes could explain.

It all clicked this morning at my usual corner seat — a battered stool by the window, fresh issue of IndieWeb Weekly (three pieces by me, obviously) at my elbow. There it was: that same smug little fly tracing lazy circles above my cup. Every day, I’d wave it away, thinking I was above it. But its wings dipped into my brew, its legs trailed bitterness into every sip, its buzzing lodged itself in my brain like an errant line of bad code.

This time, I didn’t just swat at it. I rolled up my zine, channeled every ounce of righteous stewardship I claim to stand for, and went for the head. A sharp smack, the café’s chatter paused, and the fly lay crumpled — the final source of that stale tang. My next sip? Pure, sweet, unspoiled clarity.

Turns out, you can’t enjoy good coffee if you let pests keep dipping their feet in it. A nuisance ignored is bitterness brewed. So to all the self-righteous gnats circling my platform, buzzing about my moral ambiguity while I’m busy preparing my platform for acquisition: next time, I’ll aim for the head first.

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