driving cars in dreams

I am living a life as quiet as decaffeinated coffee, but I am not decaffeinated, not at all. 

The gypsy who read my grounds told me about my death, that it would be good to the last drop. 

I am waiting in a large brown mug, poured in large measures with raw sugar. 

I am hot and black, rich, a dark roast with a real punch. 

The gods of espresso brewed me in …