The story
The bull is mid-kick and the rider is still deciding whether this was a good idea. A rope runs the shoulder of the mug like it might be useful later. The glaze is a warm mustard, crazed all over, the way old diners look in good light.
It was not thrown on this mound. It showed up already finished: dark handle, raised scene, a lip worn smooth by other hands. Vintage, a little rash, and completely sure of itself.
Coffee out of it should taste like a Saturday with dust in it. There is one. When it leaves, the relief leaves with it, and the story stays on the shelf.
