Some mornings, I am Bugs Bunny, wafting wobbly-bodied and weightless, along the visible trails of scent coming from, in his case probably carrots, and in my case probably a pot of freshly-brewed coffee, scented just as the elevator doors open on my floor.
This is one of those mornings. Please hold while I allow this precious, delectable, aromatic liquid to pry open my flagging eyelids.