Every morning when I sit to write, I drink a cup of coffee. It’s my writing stimulant. I might feel bored before I start. But when my tongue registers the first taste, my mind switches gears. The words come pouring out like hot milk. (Whether those words are good, satisfactory or downright hopeless, is another story.) Last week, I ran out of coffee. I should’ve rushed to the store to buy a packet. Instead, I sat down to write without it. I felt the void, but I was okay. Two days passed. Then three. By the end of the week,