Of all the Nobel laureates of significance, I find astounding persistence of vision in Bob Dylan’s words - one more cup of coffee for the road. For me the line signifies not the love of coffee, which though it might venerably want to imply, but I find the immensity of love for a moment which he wants to hang on to and not let go, a moment he wants to extend with the excuse that has always and forever been coffee. And darling, I do want to have a coffee with you, because coffee tends to render any moment elastic, the very end of a chewing gum, and we would continue to talk and laugh and make love and create one hundred lifetimes while sipping it, never once realising we have become the past, our moment has long extinguished itself from memory. Yet I know time is an illusion and we are still here, lips hot on lips, wet with the coffee that we just drank, waiting for each of us to challenge time to a duel with three magical words of immortality - ‘one more cup?’ And then when we run out of excuses and reasons and logic and perseverance about why we should have yet another, we seal the deal with the last three words that never, in the history of mankind, needed any reason to iron itself out of all its own full-bodied complexity: ‘for the road?’
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