“Thank you for choosing to eat breakfast at The Busy Bean. Please vote for next week’s speciality muffin before leaving. Happy eating and remember! Your vote matters.”
A crack of thunder rattles the windows. It distracts me and I grab for my cup a second too late. Hot coffee sloshes onto my hand. The ‘bot ignores my yelp of pain. There was a time I’d demand an apology. Nowadays, ‘bots never respond to complaints, and silence wears a girl down. Better to talk to no-one.
I use the end of my scarf to mop up the mess. Despite my hand, I am grateful to be here. To have this time. Outside is death, ashes and whatever thrives when the State quarantines a city. In here, there’s electric light, clean water, coffee. From 0500 to 1000, this place operates as old-normal. When I am here, I am living
