Mortimer stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of his morning commute. Had he unplugged his coffee pot? The automatic shutoff feature had stopped working long ago, and he was constantly reminding himself to dislodge its socket from the wall. Whenever he was sure that he hadn't performed this simple morning ritual, he would run back into the house and find that, why, yes indeed, he in fact had.
But what if this were the day he hadn't? He was already descending the train platform on his way to work. He dreaded the thought of his neoclassic apartment being filled with the smell of burnt, fair-trade roast, but there was nothing he could do. He would have to leave his fate to luck or luck to fate, as it were.
"Perhaps I'll parlay my perturbations by stopping by Pottery Barn for a perfumed taper."
Mortimer smiled briefly at his alliteration skills and then began his worry anew.