The Last Coffee Shop

Chapter 1: The Last Coffee Shop in the World

First there were World Wars, and then a War on Drugs, which was followed by the "War Which No One Particularly Remembered Why there was a War." Next came the Global Energy Crisis, which started the Power Wars, and indirectly influenced the Resource War. After this, someone (no one knows which of the many angry survivor groups to blame), discovered some buried nuclear warheads and unleashed them on their petty rivals in a fit of nihilistic hubris.

And then, finally, it was quiet. The World was tired, hungry, and poor, or dead. But mostly dead.

That was when the Space People, the Others, the Aliens, They came down to gawk like tourists at the scene of a murder. 

They had watched and waited to see what the Ithirlings did before They made contact, and They already had enough wars of their own. So that is why They waited until all the money and ammunition were spent, and everyone was burned or buried or disintegrated. After all, They didn't want to be shot for just saying "Hello."

When They finally landed on "Ithir," the human world, bringing food, blankets, and much needed soap, everything changed. Few of the minimal survivors wanted to live in toxic, torn up rubble fields. Not when you were a spaceflight away from the rest of the galaxy. 

Under the Semi-Galactic Council Treaty of Ithir year 3,999, all willing Ithirlings were evacuated to the 345 planets of the Semi-Galactic Empire. The dump once known as Ithir dwindled, faded, rotted, and died. Most of it, anyhow.

In a tiny forgotten village in the northwest corner of a forgotten state with a forgotten name—a state shaped like a hand waving hello (or goodbye)—and surrounded by lakes, there was a coffee shop. It used to be called Lotsa' Lattes, but that was many centuries ago. Now it was known as The Shop (to locals), or, more grandly, The Last Coffee Shop in the World (to tourists). As far as anyone knew, it really was the only coffee shop operating in the burned-up world(8).

The Shop was run by the last barista, the last baker, and the last barista's grandmother. At this time, two hours before the sun rose on the smoggy, pitted morass surrounding Springs Village, Krill, the baker, a violently violet Andalarian girl, was baking oatmeal scones. Grandmere Heloise was rolling over on her lumpy mattress, dreaming about wine and cheese, and her dashing late husband. The manager and barista, Madeleine (informally 'Mads') was roasting the beans for the week's featured brews. It was an ordinary morning, quiet, cool, and dark, and you could almost taste autumn beneath the stale cigarette stench of burnt, scarred land.

Mads looked out at the pitted surface of that scarred land and sighed. The "Springs Village Union of Allied Tradespersons," or SVUAT, would be coming by to collect the monthly fee and do the yearly inspection. Mads had counted the money in every cookie jar, and they were still short. 

It was the fifth time in the last three months, and the SVUAT wouldn't be happy. If it had been up to Mads, they wouldn't have been part of SVUAT at all. However, laws were laws, and Springs Village had survived many terrible times due to strict observance of laws. Mads knew what had happened to the outside world, and she was grateful to live in such a self-sufficient, isolated community.

Still, it wouldn't hurt them to give the Shop some more time. Interterrestrial voyagers would make a last pass through the area soon, followed by the aliens who wanted to see snow. Even second generation Ithirian expats were starting to show up to see the last "unaltered" human settlement.

Mads chewed her lip, trying to focus, but the invigorating scent of coffee beans from the roaster made it harder to stress. She could look at the plumbing in the last clean, three-stall restroom(9) with functioning toilets. She could also investigate the leak in the kitchen. At the very least, she could deep clean the kitchen before the inspection.