It was dark when he rose from his resting place: a crouched figure, shuffling forth in search of the warm, rich liquid that would restore him to a greater semblance of life. It was here, somewhere. It must be.
He moved through the darkness, seeking... hunting.
There. Now he could smell it. The source was just ahead, going about its own business, oblivious to his approach. Soon I will live again. He crept closer, reaching out...
...and pulled the pot from the coffee maker.