The Prospect of Breakfast

Mr. Coffee’s clock glows, its digits thin red lines like a doomsday clock.

5:59 AM. Morning light filters through the colorful fabric of the kitchen curtains. Homemade. It’s a comfortable 68 degrees. Just right for a perfect June day. The sprinklers are on rain delay due to last night’s shower. The outside air is fresh and pure. A sweeper cleans the freshly sealed blacktop. Colorful family sedans are parked in their driveways. A lark sings its merry song in a big Oak tree. The house slumbers. Will Bailey, the Yorkie Poo, awake to see the fly buzzing about his pug nose? A paper lies where the paper boy threw it from his bicycle on the lush green lawn. It brings all the news with carefully curated facts. The headlines match the stories. There will be no surprises. Opinions are carefully parsed based on common facts and reasonable assumptions. The local pages cover the progress of the community. The area economy is good. Crops are sprouting in the fields. Prices are decent. Ads and flyers proclaim deals to be had. People are helping each other. Crime is but a footnote. The house still slumbers.

6:00 AM. The numbers al change on Mr. Coffee’s clock. There is a tiny electric click. The brew light comes on. Down the hall there an alarm clock buzzes to life. Someone grunts as covers are thrown off. The buzzing stops. Mr. Coffee begins to gurgle and drip. The aroma of fresh coffee begins to fill the kitchen. Breakfast will be bacon and eggs with hash browns. A light comes on in the hall. Incandescent. A sleepy child wanders into the hallway. A roach scampers across the linoleum floor to a secret place under the sink.

Ten years hence.

Mr. Coffee’s digits are now black on a gray background.

5:59 AM. Morning light filters through the translucent designer kitchen curtains. Store bought. It’s 70 degrees on its way to 91. There is no rain in the forecast. A Raven squawks in the half-dead Oak tree. The street sweeper passes over the crumbling asphalt. The driver dodges dozens of cars with faded paint and rusting fenders that are carelessly parked on the street. Bailey still sleeps on the rug. She is too old to chase bugs. The paper carrier drove by and threw the paper on the ragged patch of lawn just as the sprinklers came on. At least he wrapped it this time. The news is not so good. There’s an overseas war. It’s not going well. Gas prices are up. The drought is stunting local crops. Home town teens have been drinking and racing their hot cars on he streets There is crime on the bad side of town. Six home foreclosures and a going-out-of-business sale are listed. There was another cutback at the local plant. The house still slumbers.

6:00 AM The brand-new Mr. Coffee quietly lights up. It will brew no better coffee than the old one. Eggs are scarce. Bird flu. Breakfast will be pop tarts from the toaster. A beeping phone alarm goes off down the hall. Someone cusses. A light comes on. Fluorescent. “Get up!” someone yells. A sleepy teenager pulls the covers over his head. A roach scampers across the newly tiled floor.

Twenty years hence.

The shiny new Keurig sits on the counter ready to brew an instant cup of flavored coffee. Its K-Cups have been filling up the trash, the landfill and the ocean.

5:59 AM. The morning light filters through the barred windows. The flimsy plastic curtains flutter in the breeze. There’s a dead bat on the sidewalk. It’s 73 degrees on its way to 95. It hasn’t rained for weeks and the heat has been unbearable. The air is a hazy brown. People wear masks on bad days. The couple next door has moved to someplace where they still have Winter. The street has gone to hell since the city’s bond rating tanked. There are junk cars in the driveways. The house on the corner has become a hub of activity. All day and night cars stop there for a few minutes, then leave. Bailey has been replaced by a Pit Bull named Bruno. He lies asleep at his post by the front door. If someone approaches the chains on his collar will clang as he rises to meet the threat. The paper is late. When it comes it will be carelessly tossed on the barren front yard. There isn’t much good news and the paper has shrunk. People get their information from cable TV and the Internet. Opinions are now divorced from facts and reason. Social media algorithms reinforce the user’s views. The rich have gotten richer and enjoy more political power and immunity from consequences. Working folks blame freeloaders for the misery in their lives. There is little tolerance for people who are different. The weather has been atrocious. Hurricanes, tornadoes, droughts, floods, you name it. Lakes and rivers dry up and then are inundated by floods. Coastal areas are suffering the most. Home insurance rates have gone through the roof. There are crop failures in once fertile places. Climate refugees are flooding into more prosperous areas. Fuel for heating, cooling and transportation is expensive. Scientist who try to explain what is happening to the environment are mocked. The local economy is non-existent since the plant closed.  Only junk yards, pawn shops and second-hand stores prosper. Those who remain are retired or on welfare. Drugs, crime and poverty have become the norm. The house slumbers. A roach stops at a crack in the tiled kitchen floor, then scampers off.

6:00 AM The Keurig sits idle waiting for someone to tend it. There is no signal that the day has begun other than the nightlight has gone off. LED. The slumbering couple has no reason to get up this early. Breakfast will be protein shakes from the fridge. That can wait.

Thirty years hence.

The Keurig is broken.

5:59 AM. The morning glare shines through the cracked window. It is 79 degrees on the way to God knows what. Nothing stirs in the empty streets. The big storm was the final blow for most folks in the neighborhood. Damaged, dilapidated houses are boarded up. The pavement has all but disappeared. Most of the residents are gone and the abandoned cars have been hauled off. The dirt from front yards has washed into the street. A vulture pecks at a dead cat. A stray dog searches for any scrap of food. Things are even worse in other places. Major coastal areas have been inundated by rising sea levels. The deserts have expanded exponentially. Other areas have become swampier. Crops now must be grown in new places or in massive greenhouses. The news is filtered through the prisms of the rich and powerful. Most people just ignore the media and try to fend for themselves. There is little to look forward to.

6:00 AM A roach leaves tracks as it scampers across the dusty kitchen floor.

LDT March 27, ‘24

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