Moment in My Dream Apartment

I go into the kitchen to make my morning coffee. I touch the counter, and the marble is cold under my palm. A few envelopes sit at the edge of it by my hand. I then fill the moka pot, screw it shut, and set it on the stove. While it heats, I lean back against the counter and wait. The pot sputters and I turn off the stove. I pour the coffee and wrap both hands around the cup, and the warmth of it sinks into my fingers. It's my city, as ordinary to me as the cold marble on my kitchen counter. Once a dream.