Brief
Once again, a normal day. You meet a few people on the street daily, mostly the same.
Choosing a quiet coffee shop, ill-placed for a city of this size, you enter in hopes of something to drink and a bite to eat before you head back to work. Fortunately for you, a new person awaits your entrance, though not directly.
Her name is Holly Bearcathy. Everyone knows her name. She created the new Yphone, the model you have in your pocket. She also created a better virtual reality headset and console. She is basically the best computer whiz of the age, and a rich business owner.
The tiny bell above the door dings as you swing open the door and enter the humble store. Its earthy atmosphere hits your nose immediately as you enter while the coffee taste hits your tongue.
Outside, clouds cover the mid-day sun, maybe a couple hours into the evening, as small pellets of water strike the roof and ground. The glass is pebbled with streaks of water and rays of nearby light.
Across the street, a barber shop sits with a small candy store at its right. A dress shop stands on its other side with a laundromat facing it. A man exits the candy store with his daughter at his side, turning right and just out of sight. Another man sits inside the barber shop, his hair being cut by a second man of old stature.
Inside the coffee shop, a lady stands at the counter, mentioning something to her coworker before she turns back. Her smile changes a bit into a more greeting display, however unnatural it looks, from the lively one she wore in front of the other.
“Would you like something?” She asks cheerfully, giving her full attention to you.
Above her, and on a wall behind her, stands a sign with what appears to be a menu. On the left, a header of “Coffee” takes the page. Under that mentions things like latte’s, Frappuccino’s, plain, etc. with a secondary menu below it with coffee flavors, toppings, and other things.
Also on the menu stands a list of simple sandwiches. Things like grilled cheese, a Rueben, BLT, and even a sloppy Joe.
To the left of the counter, on the far wall, is a door. A small bathroom sign is pegged above it along with a hand sanitizer dispenser next to it. Expanding more off to the left, a series of table, chairs, and booths make up the restaurant.
At this hour, very few people seem to be attending. A couple sits in the farthest booth, in the corner, talking quietly to each other about who knows what, pointing subtly toward the lady more off to the left.
A man in a heavy-looking jacket sits near the other corner of the restaurant, his phone illuminating his face just a little. His back is toward you and he seems to be eating some kind of sandwich.
Finally, on the very left of the restaurant, just next to the large window, sits another lady. A lady you have definitely seen before, especially on the news.
Her name is Holly, Holly Bearcathy. Apparently it’s some kind of memorial to one of her ancestors a long way back, presumably one killed by a bear.
She sits quietly at that table, her focus on a small device in her hand and the phone she speaks gently into under her hair. She is wearing some kind of pink polo while her legs are adorned with a pair of black jeans.
In front of her sits a cup of simple-looking black coffee and an empty seat, ready for the pickings.
