I nodded. “Tomorrow, although I don’t know why we keep track anymore.”
We both laughed. I’ve been coming to this same coffee shop for years, and Louie was always behind the counter. He might appear mean with his bushy eyebrows and droopy mustache, but anyone who knows him well is aware that he’s a big softie.
Two men in black tuxedos, each with guns strapped to their backs, approached the counter. With their black hair parted in the middle, high cheekbones, and pointed chins, it was hard to deny the striking resemblance between them. It was as if they were cast from the same mold, hinting at a close familial bond. Their seemingly serious dark eyes held a playful glint, hinting at mischief lurking beneath the surface.
“Hol’ on one sec.” Louie put one finger in the air and sidled over to the men to take their order.
I smiled and nodded, watching the men order their food with a casual familiarity, even though I’d never seen them here before. I couldn’t tell if I was drawn to their physical features or simply captivated by the mystery of someone unfamiliar. We don’t get many newcomers to this café, but I always take notice when we do. After they finished ordering, they smiled at Louie, their pink lips parting to show a row of white teeth before thanking him.
“So Vinny, any plans for yer birthday?”
The two men trailed behind me, their footsteps echoing softly on the tile floor. They settled to my left, with one leaning against the pastry case, patiently awaiting their order. My ears perked up, eager to catch every word of their hushed conversation.
“Are you thinking of going to The Carlton tomorrow night?”
“Thought about it,” the other responded. “It’s only open once a month, so why not?”
“I heard one agent is bringing some people from out of town.”
I stole a look at the two of them, and after hearing the news, the one man’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly touched his hairline.
“Really?” he asked. “It would be fun to meet someone not from…here.”
The laughter that tumbled from their lips was a joyous blend of anticipatory glee and playful mischief, like two boys on a playground.
Louie waved his hand in front of my face. “Hello? Vinny, you in there?”
Their conversation captivated me so completely that I drifted off, my gaze fixed on nothing in particular. I shook my head togather my thoughts. “Sorry, yeah.” I laughed. “No plans for my birthday that I know of.”
He put his hands at his waist. “If I know Gabe like I think I do, he’ll be plannin’ somethin’ fun for the two of yeh.”
“Maybe.” I feigned a smile. Gabe’s not the most imaginative guy, and romance isn’t exactly his forte, but watching Louie’s reaction to us, you’d think we were the most perfect couple on earth. “Thanks for the sandwich, I’m going to head to the grocers before they close.”
“See yeh tomorrow?”
“Only if you have my coffee and muffin waiting.” With a wave, I said goodbye and paused before leaving the shop. I took a quick look back to see the two men grabbing their food from Louie, with one question running through my mind: what was The Carlton?
This morning, I woke with a chill and knew a hearty, comforting meal was just what I needed. A small grocery store, just a couple of doors from my apartment, was my go-to spot for ingredients when I wanted to cook. Tonight, I was determined to recreate the creamy pasta dish my mother would only make on special occasions, the aroma I still remembered from childhood.
As I meandered through the aisles of the store, I couldn’t stop thinking about the two men. What was The Carlton? Why were they excited for out-of-towners to be there? Typically, only appointed officials are allowed to leave and enter our living area, so my interest was piqued. I wonder if Gabe knew.
“Hey, Vinny!” A man in a black tuxedo waved to me. “Happy early birthday!”
“Thanks, Jack.” After waving back to him, I grabbed a red pepper and placed it inside a plastic bag. I knew everyone here, and they all knew me. We see each other every day, and you learn a lot about them during idle conversation.
After gathering the last of the ingredients, I clutched the heavy bag of groceries to my chest as I waved to the store owner, Antonia, and headed back to my apartment. Walking down the road, I strolled past the clothing store and waved to Claudine, the head seamstress, who was busy crafting beautiful dresses by hand. Across the street, Kenny sat in his ice cream shop, watching the world go by with a bored expression. Each of the businesses was overflowing with patrons, all clad in black tuxedos and carrying assault rifles strapped to their backs.
My apartment was just a few steps away, but I stopped quickly to press the closest elevator button. The doors remained stubbornly shut, and no lights flickered on the panel.
It was worth a try.
I looked back at the long hallway of shops and businesses on the floor to my apartment. The soft glow of neon signs above each entrance cast a colorful light against the polished floor. The businesses were designed to give the illusion of freedom, but behind the facade of open doors, their owners cater exclusively to the powerful—appointed officials, law enforcement, and me. This carefully constructed illusion offered only a deceptive taste of freedom. My world barely extended beyond this floor, and at night, I was trapped within the confines of my penthouse suite.
It was the perfect gilded cage. And I was its only prisoner.
After putting the groceries away, I grabbed a long-stemmed wine glass, pulled on a plush white robe, and uncorked a fresh bottle of rich, deep cabernet. I took a sip of the wine, savoring the intricate notes of fruit and spice as I gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse. The sun sat low in the sky as if it were too lazy to reach higher, but nevertheless, its rays lit the barren wasteland below. The sight before me was a stark reminder of winter’s harsh embrace: frost-kissed fields, skeletal trees, and a desolate village seemed to echo with the silence of forgotten lives.
That’s the thing. After an apocalypse, nature will always carry on.
