The endless Cup in a doorless Cafe

"I was sitting at a small table by a window in a cafe I've never been to, drinking coffee that tasted exactly like the kind my mom used to make. I don't know how I knew that, but I did. The cup never seemed to empty, no matter how much I drank. Outside, people kept walking past in slow motion, and every time I looked up, someone different was sitting across from me. First it was an old friend, then my dad, then a stranger who felt familiar somehow. None of them said much. We just sat there drinking coffee. At some point I noticed the cafe had no door. I wasn't worried about it, just curious. The light through the window kept getting warmer, like it was late afternoon even though I could see the moon outside. I woke up before I finished the cup, and for a few minutes I could still taste it—kind of bitter, kind of sweet."