Ten clocks in the house all chime midnight together, a miraculous feat in itself, but an unwelcome one given the reminder of the hour. It is late, and yet sleep is still far off. There is much to be done. You push back your chair from the desk (or what should be a desk hidden under all the mug-ringed papers), the old castors squeaking beneath your weight. You rise and trudge over to the percolator in search of the highest possible octane coffee left without requiring you to brew another batch. The mug fills quickly, splashing with the familiar sound that you'd normally find peaceful but now annoys solely because of your sour, uncaffeinated mood. You take a sip, but immediately spit the liquid out. It tastes like death! Have you fallen asleep and dreamed it? You pinch yourself, sway slightly, and steady your nerves, then remove the lid from the pot. There, hiding inside, is a fish in the percolator.
Warm and earthy. This candle smells like a freshly-ground dark roast coffee.