. . .

  Crickets.

  The silence after that declaration is solid, though I don't think she meant it to have that effect.

  Does anyone have a pen? I bet that sucker would be loud right now.

  Ok, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t even know what to do with that information. My arm, which was still outstretched in defiance, slowly lowers while my pointing finger droops. I can feel my rage and indignation leaking like I’m a stuck balloon, leaving me staring stupidly at interdimensional spook Chloe with what is no doubt a very absurd look on my face. My eye may even be twitching. Traitor.

  Another Earth?? Not this crap again. I remember the weirdos that dragged me out of my shop ranting about “unheard of dangers” from other Earths. I thought they were just yanking my chain. I mean, come ON! What’s next? Am I a wizard? Can I travel to another world through a conveniently placed object that was built out of a special tree? Do I need to yell ‘assemble’ in order to trigger the next phase? This is ridiculous. I’m not buying it. Nope. Not this guy. They can manipulate some other caffeine super fiend into being their man on the grassy knoll. Speaking of caffeine. . .

  Rising like the dead from my mental quagmire, I clear my throat, which, as if my body suddenly realized that it’s been deprived for way too long, is bone dry. Knocking lightly on the table, I make a circling motion in the air with my finger while looking over towards the one-way glass.

  “It sounds like we’re going to be here for a while. So, what’s a guy gotta do to get a cup of joe?”

  * * * *

  Two empty pitchers sit to the side of the table, the barest trace of heat dried coffee remnants stuck to the bottom. Another half full pitcher sits close by, surrounded by nearly a dozen empty polystyrene coffee cups. Yeah, I know. The entire situation is garbage.

  Did I just detect an eyeroll? Ok, let me put you on to something. Coffee, like any other specialty crafted food or beverage, requires the proper care and equipment to be prepared for maximum flavor and benefit. Why am I saying this now? Two reasons. The first: poly-freakin-styrene. You probably call it Styrofoam, but that’s wrong. Styrofoam is actually just the brand name of the stuff they use for insulation during construction. The more you know. Anyway, do you know what happens to polystyrene cups when you fill them with hot substances? They MELT! Literally. That means the chemical styrene leaches into whatever you put into the cup and mixes into it before you drink it. It's actual poison! Those cups are legitimate biohazards and are sold to the public to drink out of without most ever being aware of this fact. Crazy right?

  The second, and the more dire of the two points in my opinion, is that this ‘coffee’ is mass ground consumer drip. Why am I such a snob, you ask? Yeah, I heard that. Let me tell you something. Come closer. A little closer. That’s too close, you're going to strain your eyes. Ok.

  Listen, what makes coffee “coffee” isn’t the grounds themselves that you pour water over, it’s the oils and caffeine in the grounds that get extracted when the hot water runs through them. The oils are what give the coffee its flavor profile. When you buy the mass-produced coffee grounds from the store, I’m not judging, you are actually buying stale, weak coffee.

  I wish I were kidding.

  Not only does coffee begin degrading fairly quickly after being ground, but the size of the grinds directly impact the amount of oils available to be extracted. The small grind size needed for drip coffee already means that less oil and aromatic compounds are available overall, so there’s already less to degrade and even less that makes it into your coffee. This gets compounded further because the grinding done for this mass-produced slop is never consistent or precise, leading to grinds that are all over the place size wise; some are bigger than needed while others are smaller than needed. This leads to inconsistent pour times and inconsistent extraction rates.

  The verdict: coffee that tastes like the sad remnant ghost of the coffee bean it was made from.

  Oh, companies will say that their product is “sealed to maintain freshness” but no amount of “sealing” stops the loss of flavor from the inconsistent grind nor does it prevent the degradation of the oils post grind. It’s just got a nice airtight spot to do it now. That means, to get coffee that actually has a flavor other than variations of stale dirt or synthetic sugar, always buy whole beans and grind them yourself. It's really easy. That or go to a coffee shop.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Shameless self-plug: Bloom’s has peak coffee.

  Anyway, now you have a better grasp of the garbage situation. Yes, I knew all of this information beforehand, but I had no choice I tell you! My very soul seemed to be screaming for my fix. Look, I know I have problem, stop judging me. I didn’t judge *you*. . .sorry.

  Two and a half pitchers of flavorless death coffee has left me in a bit of mood. I lock eyes with Chloe from across the table. For some reason she's looking at me like I have two heads. Rude.

  Nursing her first cup between her hands, Chloe tilts her chin towards the crime scene in front of her, "Feeling better?"

  I flick the empty cup in my hands away and watch it sail towards the table, bouncing once before it rolls around in a tight circle near the edge. I grunt. "No. Yes. Ask me again later."

  Chloe taps her bag of files unperturbed, "Whenever you're ready."

  Yeah, yeah. My body buzzes from the injection of caffeine, my mind races with countless thoughts; most about my store. Focus. I drum my fingers on the table steadily, pondering the situation. Other Earths. Not just that. Dangers from other Earths. Hmm. .don't get lost in the sauce, Theo. Focus. You've been taken to a random location by unknown people. They haven't hurt you or threatened you in any way. Start there. I consciously ignore the fact that I seem to have already begun to accept the Other Earths explanation. I don't understand why, but it's like I've always known in the back of my head that they existed but lacked the direct confirmation for my mind to acknowledge the information. It's weird. Focus!

  Sitting up from my reclined position, I pick up one of the two folders already shown to me. It's the one that doesn't look like a sketchbook. Mine. Giving it a brief glance, I let it fall back down to the table irreverently, allowing the burst of displaced air from its fall to push a couple of the empty polystyrene cups off the table while sending the rest rolling around in erratic circles. Chloe continues to nurse her cooling cup of garbage coffee, waiting for me to process. Ok, Chloe. Let's play ball.

  "Who are you guys? Are you the government?", I ask bluntly, spreading my arms wide and indicating the space around us, "this all seems very hush-hush."

  Chloe lets a small smile show, "No, Mr. Bloom. We aren't the government. We are an organization that exists both outside and above any single world government. You could say that our existence even encourages those governments towards certain agendas without us even needing to interfere directly."

  My eyes narrow slightly at the absurd information, "What? Like the Illuminati?"

  Chloe's smile vanishes instantly, her face turning grim, "We are nothing like the Illuminati. That will be made clear soon," she reaches over to her bag and begins to sift through the contents, "We have existed since before the very fabrics of this Earth were laid, and we will exist long after. Think of us like a clearing house of sorts. One that also provides training and resources for those that need them."

  Nice try, Chloe. My arms remain folded across my chest even as I latch on to what I consider a pretty significant piece of information, "You're saying that the Illuminati actually exists then? Like, as a full on secret elite book club, that might also be lizard people, bent on controlling the world from the shadows?"

  The subtle twitch in Chloe's eye returns. Heh, you'd think *she* was the one that drank two pitchers of coffee. "The Illuminati do exist and they aren't lizard people. Though, that would be preferable. What they are, or rather became, is much worse."

  Did she just insinuate that lizard people exist, or am I reading too much into that?. . . Focus on *your* issues first, Theo, geeze.

  Several follow up questions easily line themselves up but, just as I go to start tossing them out, the mature, non-addict side of my brain manages to pump the brakes on my thoughts. A rare moment of blessed peace settles in my mind as the chaotic deluge of thoughts that constantly assault my consciousness ceases. I breathe. The peace never lasts, but I don't need it to. I just need to breathe.

  Chloe continues to sort through her files as she waits for my next inevitable question, patiently biding her time and letting me get everything off of my chest that's been building up since they brought me here. She pulls out individual papers and stacks them up in neat rows, barely even acknowledging the sudden lack of questions coming her way. These guys really aren't bothered by my attitude. I finally realize. She's really just going to sit here, letting me tire myself out like some kid at recess before she steps up like the adult in the room and gets to the real business. I don't now whether to feel coddled or respected. Definitely handled. I sigh and drum the table a bit.

  "Everything I want to ask will probably be answered at some point if I just let you guys get on with it, right?"

  Another soft smile from Chloe, a bit more genuine than last time, "Probably, Mr. Bloom. I believe, at the very least, you'll gain the ability to answer them for yourself."

  With that simple exchange of honesty, it feels like a veil has lifted. I look at Chloe and no longer see a "spook". Instead, I see Chloe Marks, a patient woman of indeterminable authority assigned to explain the mysteries of the universe to a crotchety coffee store owner. Ugh, why am I always the one that feels bad? Wasn't I kidnapped in broad daylight?

  "Ok, Ms. Marks. Give it to me straight."

  A wide grin spreads across her face. Uh-oh. Nevermind, I take it back! Give to me slow!

  "The straight version, Mr. Bloom, is that our entire world is a copy of a copy,". . . what?. . ., "and you, Theodore Bloom, are the closest thing to real that our world has."