I walked through the stiflingly hot, grimy cityscape. The buildings all seemed short, no more than a few hundred meters; and although overhead, I saw plenty of placards and advertisements, there were only people on the ground with me, and no people overhead at all. It had been a long time since I had walked through a place so desolate.
As I squeezed through the crowd of pedestrians, a man jostled my shoulder.
"Excuse me. I—" he began. I spun around to get a good look at him. Mid-twenties. Fairly average-looking. His eyes widened as he got a good look at me: I looked completely average, with a balanced face, pale brown eyes, and long, light brown hair.
"I'm sorry I bumped into you like that," he said.
"Not a problem," I said.
"Can I take you out to coffee to make it up?" he said.
I studied him. He seemed fairly average; and I would rather work with him than no one.
"You can," I said. "Where do you want to go?"
"What, now?" he said, his eyes widening again. I nodded. He considered for a moment, then said, "There's a place about three blocks thataway. They're new, but very good."
"All right," I said. "Lead the way."
"I just have to make one call," he said. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and hunched over it. "Yeah, it's me," he said. "I'm going to be a little bit late to the 2:00—actually, I might not make it in at all—yeah—if you could cover for me—thanks!" He pushed his phone back into his pocket and straightened up again, looking happier.
"It's thisaway," he said, pointing. We passed a restaurant which was serving food and drinks on tables on the already-crowded sidewalk; we passed a very small park with a statue; we passed several more tall buildings with glittering billboards on their sides.
Then, the cityscape changed. There were no more billboards; the buildings had sheer reflective glass sides. There were still people on the sidewalk with us, but they somehow looked more hurried and less cheerful.
We walked one more block. Now, there were even fewer pedestrians. But I saw, at the next street corner, a glass-enclosed shop with tables, the first floor of a cold blue glass tower.
"This is it," he said. "Valentina's. The best coffee you'll get north of 10
th
."
"I trust your judgment," I said.
He laughed. "Thank you—but I'll let you see for yourself.—How do you like your coffee, anyway?"
"I don't know," I said. "I have never had coffee."
His eyes widened again. "You've never had coffee? Where did you say you were from? Well, you'll be spoiled; this is the good stuff."
We crossed the street and stepped in. The horrible warmth became even hotter. A cheerful conversational hubbub surrounded us. We stepped into a quick-moving line in front of the counter, almost underneath a green chalkboard.
"What do you recommend?" I said.
"Me? I like everything," he said. "Espressos, macchiatos, lattes—I even like their ristretto."
"I don't know any of those," I said. "Please order for me."
The line brought us to the worn-looking heavy wooden counter. A cheerful, round man with a black beard and a green apron stood behind.
"Ah, Adam, good to see you again," he said. "The usual for you?"
"You know it," said my man (who must have been named Adam).
"And for the lady?" he said, looking at me. I stared at him.
"She's never had coffee before," said Adam.
The man gaped. "Never had coffee! Well, then, best start with a latte. Give me a word."
I thought of my home, with its gorgeous rings that filled the sky. "Saturn," I said.
The bearded man raised one eyebrow; Adam gasped. "Saturn?" he said. "That's random."
"Is it?" I said. "I thought that everyone knew of the most beautiful planet in this solar system."
"Saturn it is," said the bearded man. He exchanged a few words with some other guys in green aprons, and told Adam, "That'll be $13.08." Adam pulled out his wallet and handed over his credit card; then, the two of us waited for our coffee by a different stretch of the counter.
