Chapter 1 -  The Diner

She burst through the front door wide-eyed with surprise, looking like she’d just fallen out of bed except for her clothes.

“Where am I?” She was dressed for a funeral somewhere mid-20th century north Americana. She was wearing a name tag, one of those paper stick-on kind with the name “Jane” handwritten in Sharpie.

Customers show up here in the diner dressed to impress. They always have a name tag, but only with a first name. Nobody knows why. That’s just the way it works here in the diner.

“Welcome Jane!” I replied, reading her nametag out loud. “I’m Dave and I run this place.”

“Hi, Dave,” Jane replied. “What is this place? And what the hell is going on over there?” She was staring out the window at the light show happening just over the horizon.

“This is the diner at the dawn of the universe,” I said. “That’s what we’re looking at out there just over the horizon, the universe dawning.”

The diner is perched precariously in untime, not quite close enough to be pulled over the edge and into the space-time continuum, or what we call Entropia around here.

Jane stared out the window, took a deep breath, held it for a non-moment, and relaxed a bit. The diner appears to be standing still, but you can feel the rhythm underfoot as the conveyor belt feeds mass quantities of nothing in particular into the entropics.

“On the road just out front there,” I explained, ”that steady stream of vehicles, from busses to bicycles, is shuttling a host of Entropians back into Entropia for another go-round. Don’t you remember being on one of those busses? I watched the bus stop. You got off and the bus pulled away.”

“Yes, and then I walked in here.” She said. “That’s all I can remember.”

“Well, who’s Jane?” I asked.

“What?” she replied.

“Your name tag. Everybody has one, even me.” I said. “I took a Sharpie and smoked the edges, just for a little flair.

“Jane” she recited curiously. “I can’t remember shit about Jane or anything else.”

“That’s because here in untime you are just you being you just right now, just like you’ve always been. Every entropian passing untime here in the diner is just another one-off nobody in particular busy putting off the inevitable.”

“Entropy Rules! Symmetry Drools” appears on a digital display screen above my head.

Jane turns to look at the light show. The diner sign brightens up a bit as the dawn patrol passes by with cop lights flashing, but it didn’t stop here.

“That’s the Ouroboros. He’s the only somebody in particular here in untime.” I said. “He’s the traffic cop for the Entropy Rules Coalition. His job is to keep things moving for the ERC. He stops by here pretty regularly. If you stick around awhile and you’ll get to meet him in person. Of course, whenever you’re ready to jump back into the flow, just step out front and raise a hand and you’ll be back on a bus in a flash.”

Jane continued to stare out the window.

“Sure is something to see, isn’t it?” I said. “The dawn of the universe. All roads lead to Rome, as they say. Look at all that traffic going by”

“I’ve got to ask, Jane. What made you get off the bus at this stop anyway? The busses passing by are express service unless you actually ask to get off, or on, so what happened?” I asked. “I’m curious because folks come and go and nobody seems able to quite put their finger on why they decided to stop just right now.”

“Well Dave,” she looked me dead in the eye. “This is going to sound crazy, but I had this sudden itching just out of reach on my left shoulder blade, I reached up with my right arm to scratch and accidentally tripped the bus’s stop cord. I must of done, didn’t I? The bus stopped, the driver turned to face me specifically and told me this was my stop, so I got off. That’s all I know.”

“The itch is common”, I told Jane, chuckling a bit. “For me, it was a knee-jerking sneeze. Customers seem to stop at this place to grab a cuppa, take a time-out and think things over. I mean, what the fuck? Entropy just never lets up, does it?” I went on. “The diner is nothing fancy. It’s definitely not a destination.”

“So, Dave,” Jane asked. “What the fuck?”

“Entropy Rules!” was digitally displayed again.

“You tell me, Jane,” I said. “I’m just another nobody in particular, just like you. Just like all those entropians rushing past out there. Just like all the customers here in the diner. What the fuck? I would like to know myself.”

The next stop past the diner is the entropic event horizon, the EEH. It’s not so much a stop as a calamity about to happen to you. Or not. When you drop over the edge, you’re up to it in a landslide of nothing in particular carrying a steady stream of entropians plunging willy-nilly through the entropic event horizon, bobbing to the surface of space-time lifeform-entangled fumbling to survive inside the rough and tumble entropics as somebody in particular. For me, it always seems to be over before I have any clue as to what the fuck.

“Entropy rules, that’s a fact.” I told Jane pointing at the dawn of the universe forevering out the window.

“The universe is a rock tumbler polishing and grinding all the stuff and such until there’s nothing left, not even dust. As founding members of the ERC, each of us has to follow certain rules, the Articles.” I went on. “Enough about that for just right now, though. The diner is all about taking a time-out from all that relentless entropy. Let’s get you settled in and fed so you can get comfortable. Then we can talk more.”

“Food is Love” pops up on a digital display. That is the motto here in Dave’s Diner.

“Sounds good,” Jane said. “I mean what the fuck?” I showed Jane to a booth by the window.

Dave’s Diner is a small joint, eight booths on either side of the front door along the wall. Windows line the front wall above the booths, offering a spectacular view of the universe dawning out there just over the horizon. From here in untime, we can see all that nothing in particular tumbling over the edge like a waterfall. The light show flaring up into view is mesmerizing, but the outcome of the crash below is out of view from here. The only way to see what’s happening down there in Entropia is to jump in and go with the flow.

Jane had time to get settled, order up some food, and put her feet up. She can ask her questions in good time. It’s actually untime here in the diner.

The Diner sign mounted on the roof shines neon bright. The sign is always lit up over the diner, splashing big light into the pre-dawn darkness. You can’t miss it from the highway.

The service counter spans the back wall with soda fountain stools that spin. The back wall is stainless steel up to eye level. Above that is a row of sixteen digital display boards, each of them three feet high by four feet long.

The messages are always changing for no particular reason, rotating like flash cards with pithy sayings, pep talk phrases, and heartfelt advice.

“It Is What It Is.” shows up a lot.

Here in the diner it definitely is what it is, even if you can’t put your finger on whatever that is. My guess is that the Big O, Ouroboros, is in charge of the display boards. All the messaging is aimed at getting us stragglers off our asses and back into the entropic flow of nothing in particular as we agreed.

The diner sign winks whenever the dawn patrol passes by. There’s only the one patrol car schlepping Ouroboros from place to place here in untime. The diner sign blinked but the dawn patrol didn’t stop here just right now.

“That’s quite the light show,” Jane commented, getting the feel of the place. “I wonder what’s happening?”

“No clue” I confirmed, “but I’ve got a theory.”

Inventing a theory of everything is always good gossip here in the diner. If you’ve been through Entropia even just once you can’t help but wonder what the fuck? I’m pretty sure I’ve been through more than a couple of times, but it doesn't seem to make any more sense to me. For just right now, I am perfectly happy here in the diner until I can get What the Fuck? sorted, at least for myself.

“In my theory of everything,” I went on, “It’s the itch that got the whole thing started. That’s why I always ask customers why they stopped here. Folks are itching and sneezing and twitching out without ever identifying any direct cause. Suppose that’s all it’s about, entropically.”

“Okay, Dave,” Jane said. “You’ve got my attention, being an itcher myself.”

“Well, way back when, before entropy had occurred to anybody, all of us were bunched up in one big whatever.” I went on. “There really is no outside, all of us one-offs grains of being “I am” are individuated, same as we’ve always been. Back then, before Entropia, all of us were still an undifferentiated totality. In this singularity, all of us were just fine all by ourselves, cozy and soft and symmetrical and perfectly happy doing nothing in particular timelessly. Then something itched and shit started happening. “

It’s definitely a theory Dave. Could you be overthinking it?.” Jane asked.

“Maybe,” I agreed, but I went on anyway.

“The irresistible irritation was contagious and must have spread like wildfire through the humongous whatever, but only about five percent got infected best I can figure.”

“It’s hard to tell if us infected folks left on our own or got kicked out. At this point, it doesn’t really matter anyway. The infectees formed the “Entropy Rules!” Coalition, the ERC, and all of us entropians made a break for it out of the idle symmetry of the inert singularity to find out what itches and scratch it. Boom. Entropia.”

I went on, even though I could see Jane glazing over. “That’s the theory I’m working on anyway. It’s got some gaps to plug. That’s why I’m still here in the diner. If I’m honest, and why not, I’m no closer now to a Big Picture Theory of Everything than I was when I first got here. All I know is that whatever’s happening, it’s happening to all of us entropians just the same.”

So you’re just procrastinating.” Jane summarized. “What about the other customers? Why did they get off here?” Jane asked.

“Suddenly erupting a sneeze is running neck and neck with the itch,” I told her. “I sneezed and stopped my ride somehow by vigorously flailing about. Of course, a sneeze is like an itch in the schnoz.”

“Stopping the bus always involves flailing about suddenly.” I said. “Some folks claim their bus hit a bump and they lost their balance. That’s hard to buy since the road is smooth as silk. The bump was just their thought stream hitting a rough spot, a what the fuck? bump on the head. Once in a while, somebody sees a mouse or a snake or some furry lost friend. Nobody ever seems to have a logical reason, or any reason, to drop by this diner.”

As the proprietor of this establishment, it’s a bit insulting. The diner is never a destination. No matter. I keep the place clean; the food is fresh and comforting and the atmosphere is friendly. Whatever the reason customers stop, they find that all the other great features here in Dave’s Diner are just gravy on the cake.

Untime has come to be a way of life for me here in the diner. Let’s face it, becoming lifeform-entangled in the entropics is a grab bag of random existential happenings that make no sense. My entropic experiences are only accessible introspectively. It doesn’t matter if I’m in untime or space-time, wherever I go, there “I am.”

At least being lifeform-unentangled here in untime leaves everything to the imagination. Sooner or later, I’ll have to get back on the road myself to tackle the Entropics another time. I can still feel that tickling in the schnoz and the Big O, Ouroboros has his eye on me.

Just right now, though, I am Dave, the proprietor of this fine establishment. This place is before the beginning of time and is in fact avoiding time altogether. Dave’s Diner is a quiet spot, a place in untime to take a break and consider your options. There’s always hot coffee and comfort food on the menu. Here in the diner, food is love. It’s my motto.

The diner is a comfortable place to take a time out of the hubbub of everything in particular changing all the time in the entropics. Untime is a chance to get away from the willy nilly of being somebody in particular in Entropia. Taking a time-out is well worth a long think before jumping back into the flow. Dave’s Diner is just the place for doing that.

Besides being the proprietor of this joint, I’m also the chief cook and bottle washer, too. I’m the only staff in fact. There’s always something for me to be doing. There’s prep to be done, the washing and the peeling and the chopping. The grill needs tending, with spuds and onions frying and eggs to be flipped, toast to be toasted. The bacon is sizzling. Everything happening in here is comforting to me.

I don’t actually serve the meals or pour the coffee or do dishes, though. I don’t even cook really. The grill is just for show. The food being prepared is real enough, but it’s just a prop for the ambience. The place is full service but like the Jetsons or a star trek replicator. Folks order any favorite comfort food imaginable and it shows up on their table hot and ready along with the drink of their choice. It’s pretty sweet. Everybody pays with their good intentions. That’s what keeps the place going.

I am never too busy to greet each and every customer and I do my best to make them feel comfortable. Fact is, working the grill is just my part in creating the diner’s atmosphere. I am just here for the customers, and of course to put off leaving untime just right now myself. Here in the diner, I can keep an eye on the entropic event horizon without getting pulled back into the shit show happening out there. You can see it happening just over the edge.

A flurry of messages display on the digital billboards.

“When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

“The mystery lies in not just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.”

No shit Sherlock. Finding something to live for is just the point of stopping here in the diner. Everybody needs a theory of everything to go on, even if it doesn’t makes sense to anybody but yourself. That’s just how we’re wired. I mean, what the fuck?

The display board messages are digital and changing all the untime, reflecting the inner workings in the sundry thought streams of each customer’s mind. Here in the diner, song lyrics get a lot of play, especially the Beatles.

“All you need is love. Love is all you need.”

For us entropians, when it comes down to it, love is the only theory of everything that makes any sense.

“Food is Love”. That’s one of my favorites and the motto here in the diner.

“Love is a many-splendored thing.” It also splinters, causing a lot of arguments and suffering.

The only signage resembling an advertisement is over the exit, “Next Untime, Eat At Joes.” It’s my personal reaffirmation that nothing lasts forever, not even untime. I figure it means Joe will be coming along any old untime to take over my duties.

Sometimes stuff appears on a message board that makes no sense to me, but it’s meant for some customer taking a timeout here in the diner. “Dick Nixon, before he dicks you,” for example. What’s that about?

“Love is all you need, but it won’t fill your belly” pops up on a screen.

Rumor has it diners like mine are scattered willy-nilly up and down the entropic frontier. Well, not exactly like mine. Dave’s Diner is a boutique experience, crafted meticulously by everybody’s imagination of 20th century Americana. I imagine that every diner or pub or watering hole like mine is happening just right now in untime and built to suit the variety of Entropians on their way back to making another splash into the Entropics. In the case of Dave’s Diner, folks are most likely headed back as some form of earthling experience. In reality, though, you could end up anywhere in Entropia once you leave here.

Jane had some untime to reflect on her situation. “The last thing I remember is forgetting everything. Every memory and every drop of thought drained out of me until I was all that’s left. I am, but where am I? Who am I?” she asked again.

“You’re in Dave’s Diner”, I told her again. “It’s the last stop before the dawn of the universe. Stay as long as you like or you can leave anytime. It’s no matter here. As far as who you are, well you’re Jane as far as I know. The rest is up to you. The slate’s been wiped clean and you are cleared to reboot. That’s what folks do here. We call it coming up with your theory of everything, whatever works for you”

“We’re all in this boat alone” popped up on one of the displays above my head.

“Those folks over there are the regulars. You can pick their brains if you want. None of them know shit, but their wild theories are always fresh flowers for new folks to sniff. Sooner or later, though, all those theories start to smell like farts.

That’s Sheila with her back to you next to the window. Bishop is opposite, by the window facing us. Jo is beside Sheila, and Dick is across from Jo.” I said.

The regulars waved little flags over their heads without bothering to look over at Jane.

“They always do that to the newcomers. It's kind of a trick they play. What shows up on their flags is what you imagine. They’re picking your brain, so to speak. Of course, the only brains in this place are on the menu.” I joked. “If you stick around a while, they’ll warm up.”

A few dozen folks were scattered around the diner. Some were in booths together and others alone at the counter. Folks in the booths gravitated together only after they arrive. Everybody comes in alone. That’s just how it works. The regulars and I don’t pay much attention to the comings and goings. You get noticed in here by not going away.

Sheila’s seen the most customer arrivals and departures. For most folks, this is just a short stop. She claims over nine hundred customers have come and gone in her untime here. I’m right behind her with eight hundred. Being the proprietor of the diner is typically passed down by seniority, but Sheila didn’t want the job when Shirley left, so I took over. The other three regulars have been around over a hundred customer comings and goings. That’s just one benchmark to call yourself a regular. Of course, you don’t reach that level in the game without a few visits from The Big O.”

Here in the diner, it is always just right now, right before whatever’s happening on the planet earth, or anywhere else in Entropia for that matter, actually happens. Just right now is like finding yourself caught between the AH and the CHOO. That’s the unmoment where everything stops and I mean everything, and it’s just right now. It’s the place between the itch and the scratch, too.

This place is just right now, just before the entropic event horizon feeds nothing in particular into the chaos of the rock tumbler entropics. Entropia as we entropians know it.

Sooner or later, everybody here in the diner has to get back on the road, even me if I’m honest. This place is just a time out, a place to catch your breath before slipping back into the lifeform-entangled anarchy of physical existence, where the only glimpse you get of just right now is happening in-between breaths, or sneezes, in the non-stop live action adventure of being “I am” incarnate.

I looked squarely at Jane and she saw me change from Dave into Moat-Wah-Te. Moat-Wah-Te is a grizzly old bear with soft brown, eyes, humongous teeth, and just the cutest teddy bear ears you ever did see. It’s always a shock for the customer, but it has to be done. That’s my job as the proprietor of the fine breakfast joint; put on a show and ask the tough questions.

“Jane, you are Jane, obviously. Isn’t that right gang?”, I said.

Sheila and Jo turned in their chairs to take a look. Bishop and Dick, already facing our way raised their heads. Bishop put on the glasses hanging around his neck.

“Can you come closer”, Bishop asked.

Jane stepped closer, her heels clicking on the black and white checkerboard tiles.

“It’s Jane alright”, Dick said. “I’d know that shape anywhere, even if she didn’t have that nametag.”

“It’s just Jane, Dick”, Sheila piped in. “Not Jane fucking Doe, you dickhead.”

Sheila and Dick were quick to take after each other, to both their delights. Dick is all man, both coming and going entropically. and takes pride on being the biggest dick possible. He doesn’t seem too anxious to get back on the bus, though. The gossip is that he is afraid of coming back as a lifeform-entangled female human. As if that wouldn’t be bad enough, he could end up in some old goat’s harem.

Sheila is sticking around she says because she is concerned about becoming lifeform-entangled as a fucking dick. Now that she has spent some untime here with Dick, it easy to see what kind of shit show that could become. Just right now, another bus throttled by without a glance our way, like we weren’t even here.

“Okay. I’m Jane. So what?” she said. “And what’s the deal with the creepy cute bear?”

“Is Jane going or going?” I asked. “You saw me happening to me. Best I can tell, Moat Wah Te is just another me that stopped here for a while before catching the entropy express. Dave is also me before catching the bus. All I know is we are both here just right now but not at the same time.”

As Jane perused the room, folks changed their appearance, all except Jo who looked almost exactly the same except with a patina of soft fur. She’s not a newbie though, obviously, being a regular and all.

A newbie is nobody in particular, arriving directly out of the soft symmetry of the inert singularity. Those first-timers are headed hard-on into the collapsing event horizon to get their first taste of entropy, so they’ve got no questions and nothing to show for themselves just right now. That takes some time inside the entropics, so they’ve got no reason to stop. It’s us weary old timers that stop for a time out.

“Come on Jane! Show us what you’ve got!”. Dick repeated.

The biggest crow any of us had ever seen hopped up on the counter.

Well, that’s a surprise!” Jane exclaimed, in her best crow voice.

No reason to doubt the cross-species thing. Lifeform-entangled is lifeform-entangled, after all. A display screen light up.

“If they breathe they live.

If they live, they think.

If they think, they feel,

just like you and me.”

Back in the corner, in a booth by himself, a fidgety fellow was suddenly the elephant in the room, and then back, silently nursing his milkshake. His name tag read “Einstein.” The whole place cracked up. There’s an elephant in the room! It was a moment to remember. Remembering moments is not our strong suit here, though. I write everything down using invisible ink on the empty pages in my personal journal. It can only be read under black light, though. Isn’t that an oxymoron? it doesn't matter. I lost the journal. It must be around here somewhere.

Jane was back to being Jane and everybody else was back to being their current favorite entropic manifestation.

Us old-timers here in the diner have tumbled through the gauntlet of being “I am” entangled in one lifeform or another. Here in the diner, we are all grabbing our last chance to take a break and catch our breath before heading back into the fray. Does going back into Entropia even make sense anymore? I mean, what the fuck?

Sometimes I consider just slipping back into the soft symmetry of being “I am” as nothing in particular in a place where nothing ever happens, not even time. The articles don’t permit that, I know.

The diner sure is comfortable, for me at least, but it’s not home and you can’t really be happy here. Returning to the inert symmetry of the singularity voluntarily is not permitted of course. Even if it was, we’ve come this far, isn’t it better to stick around and see how it plays out?

“Avoid the Void” pops up on a billboard.

“If you’re not scared, you’re not paying attention” follows that bit of unknown wisdom.

I always imagined myself being a short order cook in the best breakfast joint in town slinging spuds with the sun coming up and the strong smell of coffee and the feel of butter and laughing up a new day. Once the prep is done, I slip out the back and smoke a joint just before sunrise, which never actually happens here in untime.

Out the back, the landscape drops of fast. The diner floats on the rollicking conundrum of nothing in particular. Our here, you can feel the buzz underfoot as the entropic potential passes underneath the diner. There’s an unimaginable amount of nothing in particular down there on its way to the shores of Entropia, destined to become something of substance.

Sometimes the surge of darkness swells up at me, making my head spin and my unbody wobbly. Sometimes it feels scary and threatening. Other times it feels like my long-lost home offering me a warm welcome. Probably just the pot talking.

Back when I was just a regular, Shirley was the proprietor. She called me over one morning and asked me to watch the place while she stepped out back. That was odd for her. There’s nothing out there except the darkness as far as you can see. Shirley smoked cigarettes like a chimney, but she didn’t need to go outside for that. I said sure. Why not?

Shirley never came back. There’s no telling what happened to her. It could have been an accident. Or maybe she just stepped off the threshold on her own into the darkness and out of sight, spawning upstream and back to the headwaters of nothing in particular.

Anyway, Sheila was the senior regular then so she had first dibs on Shirley’s job as the proprietor of the diner at the dawn of the universe.

She turned the job down and I was next in line. So now I am running this joint, at least until I decide to slip out the back, jack. Of course, any of us diner denizens can hop on the next bus passing by out front and get on with it. Obviously, I’m kinda chicken, just hanging here for so much untime, putting off the inevitable. I expect the dawn patrol to be paying me a visit any old untime now. Again.

The best thing about this place is that it’s exactly as I imagine it to be, mostly anyway. Every customer gets to add their own personal touch, so the place is changing all the untime. Yes, change is definitely possible here in untime, even if change and time are only in our minds, but here in the diner, minds are changing all the time. After all, no point in having a mind if you can’t change it. Anyway, most times here in untime it’s hard to tell where one mind starts and another leaves off.

The juke box music is personalized, too. It’s all in the head. None of the rest of us have to be in on the personal selections of other customers. Folks also change the booths a lot. A chrome metal set with a Formica top, chrome trim, and matching chairs seems the choice for talking about the weather or the sunrise.

Of course, we have no weather here, but the weather happening somewhere is always a topic of conversation. A more private booth has high-back Naugahyde benches, mostly in a deep red, burgundy, or chocolate. It’s a favorite for more in-depth discussions about what’s happening with life, the universe, and everything entropic. What the fuck? in general terms.

Entropians stop here, I figure, because they realize that their theory of everything is falling short. Life wasn’t what they thought it should be. It hits them all of a sudden like a twitch or an itch or a sneeze or a bump in the road. Next thing you know, you’ve parked yourself in the diner and are taking a little time-out.

Einstein in the back there never talks to any of us. He just sits back there, tossing dice over and over, scribbling on the tabletop, and muttering to himself, determined to go it alone. Sometimes he plays with a model train, listening to the whistle as the little toy train comes and goes. This is the first time he has shown anything of himself other than that youthful old fellow. His elephant reminded me of Dumbo, only in 3D. This place is always full of surprises.

I feel pretty good about running this joint because in my world food is love and I want to spread it around. Dave’s Diner is a way stop, a place to catch your breath and fill up on your favorite breakfast. Or whatever. It doesn’t have to be breakfast. Your favorite comfort food is always on the menu. Dave’s Diner is full-service.

“So Jane,” I said, “You got off the bus because something itched and you scratched, causing the driver to stop somehow. You’re the only one that got off the bus and you came rushing in here all decked out as Jane claiming you know nothing. Then it turns out you might be a crow too somehow. Does that sound about right?” I asked Jane.

“I don’t know if it’s right, but that about sums it up,” Jane said with surprising calm. “and I am wondering why myself. I mean, what the fuck?”

This is just the place for doing that. The Diner is a place for seriously considering what the fuck? Here in untime, there is no need to rush off into the hubbub. Again.

“Here in the Diner, you’re always just nobody in particular, just another entropian, and it’s always just right now. Don’t get me wrong. I mean you’re still just you and nobody else ever can be. It doesn’t matter whether you’re tangled up in the entropics or timed-out just right now, but that doesn’t mean much here.”

“But who am I?” she queried.

A display screen lights up.

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

That applies here in the diner too.

“Well, you are here just right now talking to me, so obviously you must be somebody,” I contended. “I know that I am my same old self, same as I’ve always been. I imagine you are too.”

“That’s no help” Jane noted.

“Well Jane, this is untime,” I asserted. “Eventually all the customers, and me too, have to move on. Whoever you are, you’ll be finding out more about it soon enough. No rush, though. Folks can stay in the diner as long as they like. Time isn’t happening here just right now. None of that entropian circus actually gets underway until just past just right now. You can see it beginning out there on the horizon.”

That one’s no newbie! A crow is new to me, though, I’ve got to admit, ” Sheila piped up. “That one’s been running down the road more than a time or two.”

Sheila is one of the regulars here in Dave’s Diner, at least that’s what she calls herself. Sheila, I mean. Like me, she is just another one-off nobody in particular trying to make sense of it all. A cup of coffee, a cigarette. Sheila stares out the window at the dawn through the smoke and the steam rising off the ever-hot coffee. Her physical image is a woman of a certain distinguished age, wistful and wise, where covering up the obvious age marks is no longer a priority. But the hair must be perfection, or at least approaching perfection from every possible direction.

“Why don’t you come join us?” Sheila asked Jane sincerely.

“Thanks. Maybe later? I think I’ll take some untime to myself just right now”, she laughed at her untimely joke. That’s always a good sign. Untime is no time to take yourself too seriously.

All of us grains of nobody in particular, us entropians, are just the same old being “I am”s we’ve always been, all the way back to before there was any itching or scratching or sneezing or bumping happening just this side of the entropic event horizon, just past just right now.

Jane wandered over to an empty booth.

“Could I get…” before she could finish putting word to thought, her order was on her table. Turns out Jane was in the mood for a bowl of clam chowder and some oyster crackers. New England style, not Manhattan. That’s the great thing about this job, the food is always just as perfect as the customer imagines it to be.