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Please. Wash me.

So thought the witness to all of Harry’s office meetings: Harry’s coffee cup.

He liked to call himself Joe, this cup — and he saw everything that went on in Harry’s office.

Everything.

He’d see Harry stagger out of his bedroom, half-dressed and barely awake, first thing in the morning, and dump eight ounces of what needed to pass for coffee into him.

He’d see Harry yawn the size of the Grand Canyon — and swore he could see clear down the detective’s throat.

Joe was there when Harry first brought Tootles home, and he was there when Tootles first let rip and sent Harry fleeing into another room for fresh air.

Joe watched old Mrs. Cackleberry try to seduce Harry — and shivered on Harry’s behalf.

Another lady, much younger, had also once tried to seduce Harry in lieu of payment. Harry declined — though Joe wasn’t sure whether that was out of decency or just the desperate need for rent money.

He saw Harry hungover.

He saw Buben and Tee Tee doing things — in Harry’s office — that were not fit to print.

But mostly, he saw coffee. Lots of coffee.

Stale coffee. Coffee that could be used as paint remover. Coffee strong enough to strip consciousness or dissolve sin.

And never a dishwasher in sight.

Please, Joe thought to himself as Harry staggered out of his bedroom this particular morning. Please. Wash me.

Still, I stay. Because if I don’t hold the coffee, it gets cold.

And that — just like this cup — I’d die of neglect.