That Post-CQ Coffee Hits Different

It’s 0600. You’ve been awake since yesterday’s 0600. Your eyes feel like sandpaper wrapped in regret.

The overnight delivered everything expected: three drunk privates who lost their CAC cards, one “emergency” that was someone’s roommate snoring, and a fire alarm from burned popcorn at 0300.

But now you’re free. Relief showed up only seven minutes late, which is basically on time. You’ve signed over the book. The duty phone is no longer your problem.

And there it is. The coffee. Maybe from the DFAC, weak and suspiciously lukewarm. Maybe from the gas station where they know your order. Maybe instant from the break room Keurig.

Doesn’t matter. That first sip is transcendent.

It tastes like freedom. Like your own bed. Like the eight hours of unconsciousness you’re about to fall into.

Then your squad leader texts about 1300 training, and the coffee turns bitter. But for one beautiful moment, you were at peace.