Subtitle: Surviving bills, bad politics, and burnt dreams—with caffeine, sarcasm, and a stubborn refusal to play dirty.
Tomorrow I will drink a good coffee.
Not that watery office brew that tastes like hot cardboard and bad decisions. No. I’m talking about the kind of coffee that smells like hope—even if it’s in a chipped cup on a shaky bus that costs more than my dignity.
Behind me tonight sat a man from my past life. He didn’t speak, but I felt him staring like he knew my Wi-Fi password.
And me? I’m just here, too tangled in my own survival to help the people who actually depend on me. Still, tomorrow I will drink a coffee. Because coffee feels like a little “YES” whispered into the chaos:
Yes, you’re alive.
Yes, you can still fight.
Yes, the world is unfair, stupid, and full of gangs, but at least you still have caffeine.
Because what else could bump up the spirit in a world where the survival goes like this:
- One paycheck = rent.
- Half of another = bills and food.
- What’s left? The magical budget for… absolutely nothing.
Add a sick relative into the mix, and life becomes a sport called Overwhelmathlon.
The events include: paying bills, carrying groceries, crying quietly in the bathroom, and pretending you slept 8 hours when you really don’t know the hours.
All we want are the basics: house, food, health. That’s it. Nothing fancy. But instead, we get a society that:
- Can’t protect its people.
- Keeps importing fresh immigrants with brochures about “Beautiful Lives” (spoiler: it’s a scam brochure).
- And rewards politicians who couldn’t run a lemonade stand without laundering the lemons.
If you’re a politician with sticky fingers → you thrive.
If you’re part of a gang, cartel, or organized crime cousin’s WhatsApp group → you thrive.
If you’re an honest single mom trying to build a business from nothing → the universe sends you bills shaped like middle fingers.
My communist grandfather once said: “Every profitable business has some dirt at the beginning—you’ll have to live with it.”
No thanks, Grandpa. Do dirt, in my coffee.
But then— my good coffee kicks in. And I remember: some people really did start from nothing, without dirty shortcuts. For example:
- Jan Koum, who grew up on food stamps, taught himself programming from library books, and later sold WhatsApp for $19 billion. His “startup capital” was free Wi-Fi.
- Madam C.J. Walker, widowed at 20, invented haircare products in her kitchen and became the first self-made female millionaire in America. Kitchen pots, not corruption pots.
- Ingvar Kamprad, who began selling matches on his bicycle in rural Sweden, grew that stubborn hustle into IKEA. Imagine going from matches to a global empire of allen keys.
The pattern? They didn’t fake it, cut corners, or kiss political rings. They started with skills, solved real needs, and grew slowly but stubbornly.
So maybe tomorrow, when I drink that coffee, I’ll sketch out a plan. Not dirty, not crooked—just mine. Something small, but clean. Something that doesn’t need to shake hands with cartels or beg corrupt officials for crumbs.
Because maybe Grandpa was wrong. Maybe you don’t need dirt at the bottom of your cup.
Maybe you just need coffee strong enough to wake you up, sarcastic enough to keep you laughing, and honest enough to remind you:
👉 If IKEA can start with matches, and Madam C.J. Walker with a kitchen pot, then who knows what tomorrow’s coffee might spark?
☕ Tomorrow, coffee. Today, survival. And maybe that’s how all revolutions start—with one honest sip (and a good laugh at the system).
✍️ Interactive Ending
And now I’m curious—if you were sitting on that bus, how would you write it?
Would the man from a past life whisper something haunting, or just sit in silence like a shadow?
Would tomorrow’s coffee taste like hope, or just another survival sip?
Or maybe… would he silently judge your latte, ask for your secrets, or sneakily rearrange your bag while you weren’t looking?
Writers, your turn. Share your take. Let’s see how many different stories we can pour from the same cup—one caffeine-fueled at a time.