by Moebius

Given Recent Circumstances, I Have Decided to Spend the Rest of this Year Running an Extradimensional Franchise Winchell’s


It’s just that things have been really overwhelming of late and I really think it would do me some good to put eight outfits in a tote bag, three diet cokes in my purse and drive out to the desert, find an unmarked half-paved highway and keep driving until the only thing I can see is the ghostly neon hue of my franchise Winchell’s location, appearing from the void of the desert like a pink-sprinkle-and-white-cake mirage. It would be a really nice change of pace to serve doughnuts, fresh coffee and orange juice to musicians following dark desert highways to their most certain doom, vaguely humanoid patrons whose true forms, if I knew them, would surely destroy my fragile human sanity and the odd truck driver.

I think I could really be good at it.

I was a barista for a long time and the only reason I stopped is because I needed health insurance and also because people (real people, not vaguely humanoid shadowy visitors to this realm) kind of treat service workers like shit. But I won’t allow that kid of behavior in my extradimensional franchise Winchell’s.

I don’t care what arcane knowledge you have of the Universe and our place within the cosmos. Tip well and don’t be a jackass or you’re not welcome back.

And, you know, that’s just what I’ll do for the next couple of months: fold pink boxes, load oranges into that big clunky juicer and just be alone with my thoughts and the comforting smell of undiluted industrial sanitizer.

Obviously, I’ll be back. This isn’t a forever thing, but if you absolutely must reach me, there’s an abandoned-yet-still-fully-functional phonebooth in the Mojave Desert. It was removed in May of 2000 but if you can get to it before then, you can give me a call from there. If you want to visit, you have to find a road that, as you drive down it, feel less and less welcome and more and more as though you are driving towards a vague, looming, inescapable fate- don’t worry, it’ll pass. Take the first right after the all-consuming dread lifts, you can’t miss it.

The shop is open from 3AM-5AM every day, all day because the rest of time hasn’t shown up yet. But neither has my backup cashbox with a bonus solar-powered calculator, so I assume it’s just a matter of “when”, not “if”. Masks are required, of course.

I hope to see you soon, provided reality doesn’t completely unravel- in which case I will see you Thursday.

Don’t worry, I’ve already mailed my ballot.

the second mrs. de winter

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