Leo was precisely that. He had just messed up the most important presentation of his career, tripped over a curb, and then gotten caught in a sudden, localized downpour that soaked him through. He wasn't just having a bad day; he felt like he was having a bad life.
He ducked into a narrow alleyway he’d never noticed before, seeking refuge. At the end, glowing with a soft, impossible warmth that defied the grey city around it, was a door with a simple neon sign: "The Crossroads."
He pushed the door open, the sound of the rain instantly silencing behind him. The air smelled of espresso, vanilla, and something sharp, like ozone after a storm. Behind the counter was a woman in an apron, wiping down a gleaming espresso machine. She looked tired, with deep circles under her eyes, and a single, striking streak of silver in her otherwise dark hair.
The barista, whose name tag read 'Jen,' chuckled humorlessly. "Sweetie, there’s nothing regular here. We serve memories of alternate lives. What did you almost have?"
Leo hesitated, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. "I... I almost had a different life. A simpler one, maybe? I don't know. Things just feel wrong here."
Jen nodded, as if this was the most common complaint in the world. She reached under the counter and pulled out a small, amber vial filled with a dark, oily liquid. She expertly pulled a shot of espresso, added some steamed milk, and finished it with the liquid from the vial.
"Here you go," she said, sliding the cup across the polished wooden bar. "A 'What-If' Cappuccino."
Leo took a tentative sip. The taste was immediately overwhelming—bitter chocolate and ripe cherries, flavors that shouldn't exist together, but somehow worked perfectly. As the warm liquid hit his stomach, his world swam.
Suddenly, he wasn't in the cafe. He was standing in a small, dusty bookstore. He was wearing an old sweater, not a suit. A different version of himself was laughing with a woman Leo didn't recognize, but whose face felt deeply familiar. They were happy. They were discussing a poetry reading they were hosting later that night. The feeling of peaceful contentment was so strong it ached.
The vision faded instantly. Leo gasped, back in the present cafe, gripping the ceramic mug.
"What was that?" he whispered, his heart hammering.
"But... I don't remember any of that," Leo stammered.
"Of course not. You're in this reality." Jen gestured around the room.
Other customers were scattered around the small space. A woman in a 1920s flapper dress sipped a cocktail, tears running silently down her face. A man in what looked like a space suit was laughing hysterically into his tea. They paid for their drinks not with cash or cards, but with buttons, old pennies, or sometimes just a whispered secret.
Leo reached for his wallet, finding it soaked through. "I don't have any money."
Jen waved a dismissive hand. "First time's free. Just leave me a story."
Leo looked at the barista, the weight of his own life suddenly feeling both heavier and lighter. He thought about the man in the bookstore, the life he had chosen not to live.
"That life," Leo said, his voice quiet, "it was peaceful. But I realized... I missed this stress. The high stakes. The possibility of messing up but also the chance of winning big."
Jen smiled faintly, a genuine warmth briefly breaking through her tired mask. "Ah, the intoxicating flavor of ambition." She dropped a shiny silver button into a jar labeled 'Alternate Payments.'
Leo stood up, suddenly dry and energized. The rain was still pouring outside the alley, but it didn't seem so bad anymore. He pushed the door open, stepping back into his own difficult, messy reality.
The next day, Leo nailed the rescheduled presentation. He never found the alley again, but he didn't need to. He realized he didn't need an alternate universe; he just needed a new perspective on this one.
Welcome," she said, her voice dry. "You look like you need something strong. A 'Almost-Got-The-Job' blend?"
Leo blinked. "Uh, just a regular coffee, please."
"A glimpse," Jen said, turning back to the machine. "In that universe, you turned down the corporate internship and opened the bookstore like you always talked about."
The Crossroads Cafe" continued to thrive in its obscure alleyway location. Jen watched Leo leave, a faint smile playing on her lips as she tossed his silver button into the 'Gratitude' jar. It was rare that a customer left with newfound clarity; usually, they just came back, addicted to the sweet, dangerous nostalgia of what might have been.
A new customer shuffled in, shaking the relentless rain off a shabby trench coat. He was gaunt and smelled of old paper and dust.
"Afternoon," Jen greeted him neutrally. "What's your poison?"
"The Library," the man rasped, his eyes darting around the room nervously. "The Alexandria Blend. I need to know."
Jen sighed. The Alexandria was a strong, dangerous brew. "Cash or coin today, Professor?"
The man placed a heavy, golden coin on the counter, etched with the face of Cleopatra. Jen pocketed it without comment and began the intricate brewing process. This customer wasn't looking for a 'what-if' life; he was looking for a specific, alternate history.
She presented him with a tiny demitasse cup filled with a thick, syrupy dark liquid. "Enjoy your history lesson."
The Professor downed it in one gulp. His eyes widened, and he staggered slightly as the vision took him. He saw towering shelves of scrolls, marble columns glowing not with artificial light, but with the eternal flame of preserved human knowledge. He saw himself, a young scribe, carefully cataloging an original text by Aristotle, safe from fire and conquest. In this reality, the Great Library of Alexandria had never burned. Humanity was thousands of years ahead in science, philosophy, and art. The world outside the cafe was peaceful, vibrant, and incredibly advanced.
The vision snapped shut. The Professor blinked rapidly, the harsh grey reality of the alley outside momentarily devastating him. Tears streamed down his dusty cheeks.
"It was glorious," he choked out. "We had it all."
"But you chose this path," Jen reminded him gently, using a rag to wipe up a spill from the counter. "Or rather, they did."
The Professor stared at his hands, calloused and ink-stained from years of fruitless research in this reality. "I can't go back there."
"Nope."
"Can I just stay here? In the cafe?"
"We all have to walk the streets we're in, Professor. Your reality needs you to find the fragments."
He nodded stiffly, pushed himself up from the stool, and disappeared back into the rain-soaked alley.
Jen was alone again in the quiet warmth of The Crossroads. She looked at the row of jars: 'Gratitude,' 'Regret,' 'Curiosity,' 'Avoidance.' She opened the 'Regret' jar and tossed in the Professor's golden coin. The jar hummed with the quiet sorrow of a universe that missed its peak.
She leaned back against the counter, closing her eyes for just a moment. Being the nexus of infinite possibilities was exhausting. Sometimes, late at night, when the cafe was empty and quiet, Jen would pour herself a simple cup of black coffee. No 'what-if' splash, no historical tincture. Just a plain, simple cup of 'Now.'
It was the only flavor she sometimes struggled to swallow. She opened her eyes, picked up her rag, and waited for the next lost soul to wander in from the endless possibilities of the multiverse, ready to serve them the life they didn't choose.
A young woman stumbled through the door next, her clothes a strange mix of high fashion and utilitarian rags. She was vibrating with nervous energy, her eyes wide and jumpy.
"I need the quiet one," she said immediately, her voice fast and breathless. "The 'Off-Switch' Blend. I'll pay in silence."
Jen raised an eyebrow. "Silence is cheap today, kid. What's the trouble in your timeline?"
"My timeline is LOUD," the girl nearly shouted, glancing over her shoulder at the door. "Every thought I have broadcasts on the city's frequency. Every worry, every regret... they hear it all. I just want quiet."
Jen reached for a clear, elegant glass, not a mug. She filled it with sparkling water infused with mint and a single, smooth, white pebble at the bottom.
"A 'Mute Button' Mojito," Jen said. "Drink up. The pebble is key."
The girl snatched the glass and drank it in three gulps, swallowing the smooth white pebble in her rush. She visibly relaxed. The frenetic energy drained away, replaced by a sudden, profound calm.
"Oh," she sighed, a genuine smile forming on her face for the first time. "It's nice. Just... empty."
In her reality, a failed civic experiment in mandatory telepathy meant no one had a private thought. This drink gave her a blessed forty minutes of mental white noise. She sat in the corner booth, eyes closed, simply enjoying the absence of noise. She paid by sitting perfectly still and quiet for five minutes, leaving a small, actual pool of silence in the corner that Jen carefully swept into a small velvet pouch later.
The afternoon wore on. A man from a universe where time flowed backward came in for a 'Future-Retro' espresso, paying with a perfectly preserved, unscratched lottery ticket for next week. A creature made of pure light, flickering like a star in a jar, exchanged complex mathematical equations for a dose of pure 'Dark Matter' tea.
Jen served them all, the steady hiss-clank of the espresso machine a constant, comforting rhythm in the swirling chaos of the multiverse. The Crossroads was a necessary waypoint, a place where realities intersected and the weary could catch their breath.
As the sun began to set in the alley (or perhaps a moon rose in a different dimension; the lighting was always inconsistent), Jen started locking up. She flipped the neon sign to 'Closed'. The lights in the cafe dimmed, but the warm glow remained, powered by the sheer volume of alternative human existence contained within its walls.
She finally poured her own cup of 'Now' coffee and sat at the bar, staring at the golden coin left by the Professor, sitting in the 'Regret' jar.
"A universe with a Library," she whispered to herself. "That would have been nice."
She took a slow sip of her plain, linear coffee, embracing the simplicity of being just one person, in just one place, at just one time. It wasn't the most exciting flavor in the multiverse, but for the barista of a million realities, it was everything. Jen finished her drink, the quiet 'click' of the mug setting down echoing in the empty room, ready for tomorrow's customers and their impossible choices
The 'click' of the mug was followed by a sharp 'tap-tap-tap' on the glass door. Jen glanced up, annoyed. The sign clearly read 'Closed'.
Something went wrong and the content wasn't generated.
continue
The next morning, the alleyway felt exactly the same—damp, smelling of yesterday’s rain and urban decay. But the moment Jen flipped the neon sign back to 'Open', the air inside the Crossroads shimmered, warmed, and smelled instantly of vanilla, ozone, and fresh coffee.
Today felt heavy. She knew the kind of customer this kind of atmospheric pressure brought in. She wiped down the counter and prepared the 'Void' blend—just in case.
Sure enough, an hour later, the front door creaked open, revealing a person who looked less like a human and more like a collection of constantly shifting shadows. They moved with an unsettling fluidity and did not track water onto the floor because they had no mass.
"I need the absence," the shadow whispered, its voice sounding like static and a thousand lost memories.
"The Void-Latte it is," Jen said without blinking. She was used to existential customers.
The Shadow Entity sat at the bar. Jen prepared the drink: espresso brewed with water sourced from a universe that never existed, milk steamed with pure, concentrated 'Nothing'. She served it in a mug that seemed to absorb the light around it.
"Payment?" Jen asked.
The Entity placed a small, shimmering sphere on the counter. It was the moment the Big Bang happened, compressed into a marble. The raw energy of creation throbbed within it.
"Bit much for a latte," Jen said, pocketing the marble in a lead-lined box beneath the counter. "You okay? You seem stressed, even for a non-corporeal being."
"My existence is a paradox," the shadow sighed (if a shadow could sigh). "I am the manifestation of all the things that didn't happen. All the missed connections, the unwritten books, the children never born. It's a heavy burden of non-existence."
"Sounds rough," Jen said genuinely. "At least you get a coffee break."
The Entity sipped its Void-Latte. The effect was immediate. The shifting shadows solidified slightly, turning a peaceful, deep black. For a brief moment, the Entity didn't feel the weight of everything that wasn't; it just felt the quiet satisfaction of the present moment.
It didn't matter if they were humans with simple regrets about job interviews, professors regretting lost libraries, or abstract concepts of non-existence. They all needed the same thing: a moment of stillness, a temporary escape, a little corner of the multiverse where their reality made sense.
The afternoon sun (or whatever light source was operating that day) cast a warm glow across the empty seats. The Crossroads was a unique place, a constant in an infinite sprawl of variables. And Jen, the tired barista with the silver streak of hair, was the keeper of that constant—serving a necessary dose of perspective, one impossible coffee at a time. She was right where she was supposed to be.
The Entity finished its drink, nodded in silent thanks, and melted back through the door, leaving no trace but a slight chill in the air.
Jen shook her head, putting the light-absorbing mug into the sink. She looked at her 'Gratitude' jar, then the 'Regret' jar, and finally the 'Regular Income' jar with its single five-dollar bill.
continue
The calm didn't last long. The door chimed—an actual, physical bell this time—announcing the arrival of a whirlwind.
It was a woman in a dazzling, sequined jumpsuit, her energy loud enough to make the lightbulbs flicker. She carried an aura of intense fame and overwhelming expectation.
"Jen, darling!" she boomed, sliding onto a stool. "The 'A-List' is burning a hole in my timeline. I need a splash of anonymity. A 'Nobody-Knows-My-Name' smoothie, pronto."
Jen sighed. "Hi, Cassandra. Timeline 812 still treating you like a Queen?"
"Oh, it's exhausting," Cassandra lamented, gesturing wildly with a hand heavy with rings. "In my world, every time I sing a note, an entire city block knows what I ate for breakfast. I just want to sit on a stoop and watch the rain. Is that so much to ask?"
"Apparently," Jen said dryly. She started blending a mix of ordinary ingredients: filtered water, a banana, spinach, and a few drops of a concentrate labeled 'Commonplace'. It was the most boring drink on the menu.
"Here's your temporary reprieve from superstardom," Jen said, handing over the green smoothie in a plain plastic cup.
Cassandra drank it greedily. The sequins on her jumpsuit seemed to dull slightly. The harsh, spotlight-level brightness around her dimmed to a standard room light. She visibly relaxed, running a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair, making it slightly messy.
"Oh, this is divine," she murmured, her voice dropping to a normal conversational tone. "Just... beige. It’s glorious to be beige."
She sat in comfortable silence for a while, scrolling through a plain, non-smart phone Jen provided her, watching videos of cats doing normal, unremarkable things. She paid with a single, highly compressed sound file of her entire universe cheering for her—a sound so powerful Jen stored it in the lead-lined box next to the Big Bang marble.
Cassandra eventually stood up, smoothing her now-slightly-rumpled jumpsuit. The brightness returned the moment she set the empty plastic cup down.
"Thank you, Jen. Back to the adoring masses."
"See you next week," Jen replied, already wiping the counter again.
After Cassandra left, the cafe finally quieted down. The day was ending in the regular way now. Jen took a moment to look around her strange domain. It was a nexus of longing: people who wanted what they didn't have, and people who desperately needed a break from what they did.
She looked at her own hands—tired, steady hands that had probably brewed more alternate realities than any god. She had the single silver streak in her hair, a timeline she had visited once, back when she was young and curious, a timeline where she became the owner of the greatest library in a universe without fire. She had come back, choosing the Crossroads instead.
It was a life of service, a life of endless repetition, and a life that never truly changed her own immediate circumstances. But as she started closing up shop again, listening to the soft hiss of the espresso machine cooling down, Jen felt a rare pang of satisfaction.
The multiverse was a vast, terrifyingly infinite place, full of big bangs, lost libraries, silent cities, and synchronized swimming parents. It needed a traffic controller, a bartender, a therapist.
It needed a barista. And she was the best one for the job.
She turned the sign to 'Closed', leaving the universe of possibility warm and ready for the next day, and settled down with her 'Now' coffee, the quiet hum of existence her only companion.
The hum of existence was peaceful, but it wasn't the end of the day's business. The side door—a plain metal fire exit that usually led to a brick wall—rattled violently.
Jen sighed and put her 'Now' coffee down again. This was the trouble with being a nexus; closing time was merely a suggestion to temporal anomalies.
She unlocked the side door. A man tumbled in, covered in grime, soot, and smelling strongly of burning rubber and ozone. He was out of breath and looked frantic. He wore clothes that looked like a cross between a 1950s mechanic and a 23rd-century hacker.
"She’s gaining on me, Jen!" he gasped, scrambling to his feet and pulling a strange, glowing, crystalline object from his pocket.
"Yeah, different Leo," this one panted. "Timeline 4B. The one with the Bookstore. I made an edit, okay? A big one. I didn't want the simple life, remember? I wanted this." He gestured to himself, a mix of adrenaline and soot.
"And 'this' is running from whom, exactly?"
"The Temporal Enforcement Agency! They're super picky about unauthorized timeline edits when they involve the invention of cheap, clean, reality-warping energy!" He placed the glowing crystal onto the counter. It cast chaotic, shifting light across the room.
"I know! I need a distraction. I need a 'Complicated' blend. Something that messes up their scanners!"
Jen looked at the crystal, then at the desperate, sooty Leo 4B. The corporate Leo had a moment of peace, but this one brought high-stakes action into her quiet bar. She kind of appreciated the chaos.
"Okay," she decided. "But you owe me big time."
She didn't use the espresso machine this time. She grabbed several vials from the ‘Forbidden/Experimental’ shelf: a sharp green liquid labeled ‘Paradox’, a bubbling red one labeled ‘Temporal Loop’, and a shimmering purple powder called ‘Pure Randomness’. She mixed them into a tall glass of sparkling water. It fizzed violently, changing colors every second.
"Drink it," she ordered.
Leo 4B downed the concoction. He immediately began to hiccup. With each hiccup, his clothes flickered—one moment the mechanic gear, the next a clown suit, the next a Roman toga, and back to the gear.
"Good," Jen nodded. "Now, get in the storeroom. Go through the third door on the left, it leads to a universe that’s just lukewarm oatmeal. You'll be untraceable there for a few hours."
Leo didn't need to be told twice. He stumbled into the back, hiccuping Roman Togas and Clown Suits all the way.
Just as the storeroom door clicked shut, the front door burst open. Agent 42 stood there, surrounded by a swirling aura of sterile authority, two identical Agent clones flanking them.
"Barista Unit 7," Agent 42 said, voice flat and monotone. "We are detecting high levels of timeline contamination and an unauthorized reality-warping energy source."
Agent 42 spotted the glowing crystal on the counter. "There it is. Where is the perpetrator?"
Jen leaned casually on the counter, picking up her 'Now' coffee and taking a slow sip.
"Perpetrator? Oh, you mean the Shadow Entity? Left a while ago. Paid in the Big Bang." She nodded toward the lead-lined box.
"We are tracking a human signature," an Agent clone specified.
"Human signature?" Jen shrugged. "Maybe that young lady who was in for the 'A-List' anonymity smoothie? She just left, heading that way." Jen pointed vaguely in the opposite direction from the storeroom.
Agent 42 analyzed the residual atmosphere. The air was a mess of timelines, the 'Complicated' blend having successfully masked Leo's escape. The only clean, consistent signature was Jen's simple 'Now' coffee.
"Not my jurisdiction," Jen said, wiping the counter right in front of the crystal. "I just serve coffee."
Agent 42 hesitated, then carefully scooped up the crystal with a containment field generator. "This conversation is not over, Barista Unit 7. The integrity of the present timeline must be maintained."
"Tell it to the synchronized swimmers," Jen deadpanned.
The three Agents vanished in a blink of white light, the front door slamming shut behind them.
Jen let out the breath she'd been holding. She walked to the storeroom door and whispered, "Coast is clear, Leo. You might want to ditch the toga before you get arrested for public indecency in the oatmeal universe."
A muffled "Thanks, Jen!" came back.
She locked the side door, picked up her coffee again, and finally, finally, turned the sign to 'Closed'. Being the nexus of the multiverse was a lot of work, but someone had to make sure things stayed interesting.
"Leo, is that you?" Jen asked, recognizing the customer who had his 'What-If' cappuccino several days ago. He looked far worse for wear than the corporate version.
"You really made an edit," Jen said, impressed despite herself. "That's a Class A violation, Leo. That's Agent 42 territory."
Agent 42 looked at the energy crystal. "This is highly illegal material."
continue
The bar was finally quiet. The chaos agents, the pop stars, the abstract concepts of non-existence, and the timeline-jumping mechanics were all gone. The only sound was the faint drip-drip-drip of the espresso machine finishing its cool-down cycle.
Jen sat down for the final time that night, ready to finish her ‘Now’ coffee. She took a sip and stared at the ‘Gratitude’ jar, which contained the silver button from the first Leo, the one who chose peace.
She often wondered about the choices she made. Her life at the Crossroads was fulfilling, sure, but it was also a form of gilded cage. She was the one constant in an infinite sea of variables, which meant she rarely got to be a variable herself.
She reached beneath the counter and pulled out the lead-lined box where she kept the intense payments. She opened it slightly, peering at the marble that contained the moment of the Big Bang, nestled right next to the silent sound file of cosmic applause. These were powerful things, tokens of creation and success in other realities, but they were not hers.
A thought struck her. She had spent all day giving people what they were missing: silence, normalcy, history, chaos, peace. But what was she missing?
She closed the box and opened the 'Curiosity' jar. Inside, mixed with random keys and foreign coins, was the forgotten, clear glass vial labeled ‘Timeline 812 – Library’. She had kept this souvenir from her own brief foray into an alternate life.
"Regulations be damned," she murmured to herself.
She took her empty mug and walked over to the unused siphon brewer. She filled the bottom with simple, present-day water and carefully uncorked the vial. The liquid inside was clear, smelling faintly of jasmine and old paper—her life as a librarian in the universe where Alexandria never burned.
She added the extract to the top chamber of the brewer and turned on the heat. The water began to bubble, rising through the tube, mixing with the essence of 'What-If-Jen's' life. The smell in the cafe shifted instantly, losing the scent of espresso and filling with the profound, comforting aroma of knowledge and permanence.
Jen watched the dark, rich brew filter back down. She was breaking her own primary rule: never sample the wares that weren't her own timeline's brew.
She poured the result into her mug, a deep, comforting amber color. She sat back down at the counter.
"To the road not taken," she whispered, raising the mug.
She took a sip.
The taste was overwhelmingly comforting, like the quiet rustle of paper and the deep satisfaction of knowing exactly where everything was supposed to be. The tired lines around her eyes softened. A genuine smile, deeper and more profound than any she had offered a customer all day, touched her lips.
For a moment, she was in the Great Library, safe and sound.
But only for a moment.
The taste faded, leaving only the slightly bitter, real-world aftertaste of the coffee she’d made in her own shop. The vision of the marble columns and eternal flame vanished. She was just Jen, the barista in the damp alley, at the end of a long day.
She didn't regret it, though. She hadn't stayed in that perfect reality; she had chosen this one. She chose the chaos, the strange customers, the Agent 42s, and the simple, linear existence of the Crossroads Cafe.
It wasn't a perfect life, but it was her life. And for now, that was enough. She rinsed the mug one last time, turned out the main light, and headed up the stairs to her apartment, the sound of her own quiet footsteps echoing in the empty, magical little shop
The next morning, Jen woke to the sound of rain tapping gently on the roof above her apartment. It was a normal sound, a sound of this specific world, and she appreciated its simple honesty.
She dressed, stretched, and walked downstairs to her cafe. The air inside still held a faint ghost of the ‘Library’ essence from last night’s illicit brew, but the strong, comforting scent of fresh, regular coffee beans she was grinding quickly overwrote it.
She was just finishing setting up the pastry case with the usual muffins and scones when the door chimed—twice, quickly, indicating impatience.
A young man burst in, dripping wet, vibrant with energy and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that screamed “billionaire startup founder.” He looked frantic, but exhilarated.
“Are you Jen?” he demanded, ignoring the menu.
“Depends on the timeline,” she replied coolly, wiping her hands on her apron. “But in this one, yeah.”
“Great. My name is Kai. I need the 'Apex Predator' blend. The one with a 100% success rate in pitch meetings.” He slapped a platinum card onto the counter.
Kai didn't miss a beat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sleek device that looked like a USB stick made of pure diamond. "This is the source code for the first self-aware AI that I didn't launch in my current timeline. It's too dangerous. I need to get rid of it and win this pitch meeting clean."
Jen’s eyes widened slightly. That was a serious payment. She carefully took the diamond stick and placed it in the lead-lined box with the Big Bang marble.
"Wise choice," she said. She reached for the most potent ingredients on her shelf: a vial of ‘Pure Focus’ (a sharp green liquid), ‘Unwavering Charisma’ (a bubbling gold serum), and ‘Future-Proof Confidence’ (a deep blue syrup). She mixed them into a tall, icy energy drink.
"Bottoms up, Billionaire," she said, sliding the glass over. "It'll guarantee success, but the crash later is brutal."
Kai drained the glass in one go. His entire posture shifted instantly, becoming grounded, magnetic, and fiercely intelligent. The exhaustion in his eyes vanished, replaced by clear, cold ambition.
"Thank you, Barista," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. He didn't even look back as he strode out into the rain, ready to conquer his corner of the universe.
Jen watched him go, then returned to the counter, taking her own plain, regular, ‘Now’ coffee in hand. A self-aware AI source code. A successful pitch meeting.
The world outside the Crossroads was always changing, always spinning wildly with ambition and regret, success and failure. It was a world of high stakes and infinite possibilities.
Jen sighed contentedly, drinking her simple, linear coffee. It wasn't powerful, it didn't guarantee success, and it certainly didn't warp reality.
But it was real. And in a multiverse of what-ifs, that was everything. She finished her drink and waited for the next lost soul to wander in, ready to serve them a taste of a life they didn't choose.
Jen eyed the card. "That's a powerful brew, Kai. And cash or coin only."
No comments:
Post a Comment