Dragon Runs on Coffee
Content Warning (click to expand)
homicidal ideation
by Reggie Kwok
In the dark kitchen, Paz, a western dragon, stood with a mug of cold coffee from the half-full pitcher. In the moonlight from the window, Barry entered wearing a tattered black bath robe. In the middle of the kitchen floor, Paz took a sip and savored the godly aroma in his snout. Nobody would notice. The light turned on, and Barry stood by the doorway. Paz hated human stink eyes.
For a dragon, he was rather thin, and his head couldn’t bump the apartment ceiling even if he tried jumping. His right wing hung low while the smaller left one flapped quicker than a hummingbird’s wing. His brown scales smelled like coffee. He stood on two feet while his claws squished the mug. But was it a mug? No, it was a saxophone filled with coffee in its bell.
Barry screamed, “Ah!”
Paz spat the coffee out. “Ah!”
When did this coffee mug transform into a sax? No, this object had been a sax the whole time. Ugh!
Barry pulled the dragon by his waist and shook him. “The audition is tomorrow. We can’t perform Terry the Terrific’s song if we don’t have a sax.”
“I didn’t mean to do it. It was dark, and I thought it was a mug. I didn’t want to wake you up. I need coffee to live.” Paz dropped the sax and covered his eyes.
“Buddy, we can get it fixed in the morning, but we would have to leave without coffee.”
Paz nodded.
For once, Paz planned for his day without coffee, but he could not stop thinking about it. All the supermarkets were closed. He could not beg for more coffee from other dragons and humans. Only one option remained.
He drank the final pitcher of coffee. He couldn’t live without coffee.
• • •
At seven in the morning, Paz rammed through the music shop’s door with his head. When he slammed the door shut, the blue walls rumbled, and a white ceiling tile fell. The wooden floor under the gray carpet cried for mercy from his dirty feet and sharp talons. With little time to deal with dry air, Paz searched the shop for the cashier, who stood behind a table.
Paz thumped toward the cashier. “I demand that you repair my sax.” He placed the instrument on the counter.
“Let me contact the repairer.”
Paz ripped the phone from the cashier. “Human, give me service or I’ll steal all of your coffee!”
Due to the late night, Barry — with a black vest and black rings underneath his eyes — shambled into the room. Paz grabbed the storeowner’s shirt.
For the first time in his life, Paz’s number one priority did not include more coffee.
“Don’t bug him,” said Barry. “It will take a week.”
“I can’t let this chance escape,” Paz said. “The groupies, man, the groupies.”
Barry used the countertop for support. “I don’t have cash for a rental.”
The cashier smiled. “Pick Me Up,a coffee shop down a few blocks, needs some full-time musicians. If you two perform with this new rental saxophone, then you can pay me in return before the store closes.”
Paz could jump into Barry’s arms, but the dragon’s weight would kill him. Besides, all performers required arms and fingers to succeed at the auditions for the talent show. Paz would’ve cheered at the newfound chance, but with limited time, he could not stop to smell the coffee.
They shook hands with the cashier and left the music store with directions, an address, and a new saxophone.
• • •
Paz and Barry entered the coffee shop, where humans poked their computers. A muted television showed a dragon whacking a golf ball with a club. Three humans sat at tables while two dragons and a human stood at the countertops by the window.
Paz’s eyes fluttered, and his head spun. He fell. He shut his eyes to conserve strength, and somebody compressed his back. A clink on the floor and a cocoa scent in his nose caused his eyes to open. A scaly hand poured coffee into his mouth.
After the crowd dispersed, Barry hugged his best friend. “What would I do without you?”
“I told you I need coffee to survive,” Paz said.
Barry picked up his case next to a chair. “Your savior is hiding behind the counter.”
A white-scaled dragon with beige wings and two gold earrings on his left brown horn popped out from under the bar to deliver a drink to a customer. With every movement, his dreadlocks made of living rice swung from left to right. A black apron flung around his neck. The barista tossed some sugar cubes above his head, and they splashed into the coffee. He served the drink to the customer, who gave a one-dollar tip and a thumb pointed upward. The customer returned to his seat with a smile.
Barry shook the dragon’s hand. “Thanks for saving my buddy’s life. Nobody would write about a dragon dying in a coffee shop.”
“No problem,” said the rice dragon, “if your friend needs more coffee, it’s free.”
Paz’s eyes widened. “Could I get a kopi luwak?”
“This isn’t a five-star restaurant. I’ll give you something basic.”
Barry leaned forward. “We’re not here for the coffee. The cashier from a music store mentioned a performance.”
“The cashier claims he knows me.” The dragon slid a cup of black coffee toward Paz. “In reality, he’s advertising his music store.”
Paz stopped the mug with his claw. “Let us perform for some cash.” He drank.
“That watermelon sticker on that saxophone is the logo for his place.” The rice dragon sighed. “Let me guess. He told you that I’d pay you if you performed with that sax. Well, he lied.”
Coffee shot out Paz’s snout.
He devised multiple methods to kill a cashier. Strangling him would net no benefits. Beheading him went against the law. Chewing on his insides caused nausea. Swallowing him whole would extend Paz’s stomach. Paz didn’t own a gun and couldn’t aim to save his life. Barry wouldn’t approve of gun ownership.
Paz said, “We have a broken sax and need money for a rental. Pay us.”
The rice dragon slammed a mug on the table. “If you think you can perform, use this to collect tips.” He pointed at the stage. “It’s all yours.”
A black stool stood in a corner, and purple curtains hung from a painted gold rod. The wooden tiles creaked as Paz stepped onto the stage. His wing poked some plastic black notes on the wall, but his claw saved the hanging decoration.
Terry’s music had taught him everything he needed to sing. He sang in a whisper at night. He couldn’t make a mistake. Every dragon and human in that coffee shop would judge him on every note.
Barry pulled the tenor sax from its case and spat a note scale. On Barry’s third head bob, they started. When Paz scatted, Barry held his first note. Paz stopped for four beats, and Barry jumped into his normal song. Paz sang with Barry’s sax. They ended the song with a low note. Before their bow, Paz nuzzled Barry’s cheek.
All eyes were glued onto them. A lone human shook hands with Barry and gave him some money. Soon, the others followed suit by slipping cash into the mug. The paper bills overflowed to the point where they used the saxophone as a mug. Barry counted the money.
“Man,” Barry said, “we’re fifty dollars short.”
Paz disliked creating a list of the various torture methods against the cashier. Instead, he recalled the number of busking spots in the city. Perhaps somebody out there could offer the fifty dollars they needed.
A smaller dragon with white scales reminded him of himself. His scales reeked of dumpster junk, a cross between dirt and moldy food. Dandelions grew out of his ears. Stems on his back blew with the wind from a fan.
The dandelion dragon flashed a twenty-dollar bill from a pouch. “May I pay for your autograph?”
Somebody asked him for an autograph. A step closer to an audience meant the world to him.
He stopped the fireworks with an imaginary roar vibrating in his head. He couldn’t take the money. The dandelion dragons all lived in the park. No human liked the seeds flying all over the furniture. Nobody listened to dandelion dragons. The stereotypes said dandelion dragons were bullies, but this one didn’t bully anyone.
Paz said, “Keep your money; I’ll do it for free.”
“Really? Thank you!” The dandelion dragon shoved the pen and paper into Paz’s hands signing the autograph with three letters. The fan waved and left.
The rice dragon watching the entire exchange clapped. “Congratulations on your first autograph. Before you go, do you know me?”
“You saved my life,” said Paz. “Your voice sounds familiar.”
“Do you know Terry the Terrific?” He flashed three twenty-dollar bills. “I have to do this because of what you did.”
Paz took it. “Are you Terry the Terrific? Why are you working here?”
He smiled. “I have to pay the bills.”
Paz and Terry would’ve gone for a long walk around the park to talk about music, but they could not waste time. If Paz were to gain fame in jazz music, he would contact Terry to hang out. Perhaps they could write a song about everybody drinking coffee without complaining about addiction. That bubble popped when Barry patted his scaly shoulder.
They went to the music shop. Barry paid for the sax rental and they dashed toward the Queen’s Isle Theater for their performance.
• • •
The judges yawned in unison.
Dasher Anderland, a television talk show host, said, “You tried too hard with your singing. This isn’t a marathon.”
“Look at the sweat. You two must be anxious,” said Ozzy Washerhand, a popular female singer.
Horace Bunderstein, a stand-up comedian, said, “The music didn’t grab me. Did you forget to breathe? Why did you have to be a dragon? Act like a human!”
One by one, the judges said no. After the host shook their hands, he guided the pair off stage.
All the humans were too busy poking at their cell phones to comprehend Paz’s awesomeness. Collecting their cell phones sounded like a good idea, but Paz had two problems. First, he could not steal the phones during the performance. Second, the police would arrest him for theft. He disliked turning rejection into jail time.
• • •
They celebrated their rejection with coffee from the Pick Me Up. Barry sipped his coffee while steam rose from Paz’s snout.
Twenty other locations had rejected Paz in the past. Paz used rejection papers to start fires, but for this rejection, he didn’t want to start a fire. Instead, he wanted a party.
Barry slammed the table. “Why do you exist?”
Paz puffed steam from his drink. “What lengths do I have to go to explain that I was a seed that grew up into me?”
Paz hated when humans asked where he came from. For starters, he didn’t possess the hardcopy story of dragon origins in front of him. Second, humans invented so many stories that were lies. Third, nobody but the scientists cared about how the plant grew into the dragon. The scientists didn’t care forever and tossed their hatchlings into the dumpsters.
Barry always placed the responsibility of explaining dragons on Paz, who knew little to nothing about it at all. Whenever anybody attempted to ask about reciting his past as a dragon, he asked for a full recitation of the Bible. The strategy worked most of the time.
“Remember when I found you?” Barry chuckled.
“Are we going through this story again?”
“I finished a meal and took the coffee with me. You were diving in a dumpster near the front while a truck prepared to pick it up. The smell of coffee lured you to me. I pointed to all the trash entering the compactor. Then, you thanked me by drinking my coffee!”
Paz always attempted to steal Barry’s coffee at that point in the story. He liked to count the amount of times he succeeded and failed. A poster with plenty of tally marks hid under the sofa. This time, all the coffee was gone in the cup.
“Why not ask the barista for another free coffee?” Barry waved.
Terry the Terrific strolled toward their table with another cup of black coffee.
Terry said, “You need me for anything?”
“We got rejected,” said Paz.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Can somebody reject me again?”
“That’s my pal,” said Barry. “Rejection doesn’t faze him.”
“Rejection doesn’t faze you either,” Terry said.
“Terry, we’ll stop in every once in a while for coffee.”
“I’m going to visit every day,” said Paz.
“Phew! The shop is closing soon.” Terry tossed a handful of rice from a small jar into his mouth.
Barry said, “Hey, want to busk at the subway entrance down a block from here? The baseball game is going to end soon.”
“Yeah,” Paz said, “let’s go.”
They left the coffee shop. Outside the subway entrance, they played until midnight.
About the author and the piece (click to expand)
Reggie Kwok (he/him) holds a bachelor’s in English and a master’s in education. He currently lives in Massachusetts, USA. His Twitter is @KwokReggie. His Bluesky is @reggiekwok.bsky.social. He has published short stories at Samjoko Magazine, Underland Arcana, Scrawl Place, Androids and Dragons, Inner Worlds, Orion’s Beau, Zooscape, Midnight Menagerie, Madam, Don’t Forget Your Sword and Roses and Wildflowers.
©2026 by Reggie Kwok. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.