Nonfiction from Becky Robison

Photo: Rod Long

I don’t miss coffee, but

There’s something menstrual about the smell of coffee, thick and bitter as the beans are ground and brewed to liquid. I don’t drink coffee—only a splash when it’s drowned in something sweet. But I miss the smell of it. I miss the churn of machines and the hiss of steam, the clink of glasses, the clatter of china on the bar, the bird calls of baristas, mocha-for-Ted, Americano-for-Rachel, the soft strum of something acoustic, all while I try not to eavesdrop on first dates, job interviews, language lessons, it’s dò svidànya, DÀNya, DÀNya, all while I try to focus on my own words, squeeze stories from within until they bleed from my pen onto paper.
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Becky Robison is a karaoke enthusiast, trivia nerd, and fiction writer from Chicago. A graduate of UNLV’s Creative Writing MFA program, her stories have appeared in [PANK], Paper Darts, Midwestern Gothic, and elsewhere. When she’s not working her corporate job or walking her dog, she serves as Social Media and Marketing Coordinator for Split Lip Magazine.

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