Coffee

Peter sits at the kitchen bench; his calloused hands hold a mug of coffee. He stares idly at the wall, watching the specks in his vision shift.
The pedestal lamp in the corner of the room turns on.
"Can't sleep, huh?" He says to the void of the room. "Sometimes I get like that too, nothing to worry about." He reassures himself, though it does little to help.
He takes another sip of coffee, the heat uncomfortable on his tongue. "I know I shouldn't be drinking coffee. But If I can't sleep, I can't sleep, coffe isn't going to change that."
Another sip, black and bitter, he feels it slide down his throat. "You want a mug?" To no one in particular.
"sure, couldn't hurt." Peter, now by the sink, opens a cupboard full of identical mugs, grabs one and places it on the countertop.
Peter purs the coffee. "There you go." He puts the coffee in front of the empty chair.
"Thanks." Peter talks to himself until he falls asleep.