file.coffehouse__1

She mentions the year 2079 and what life will be like. In 2079 we will have optic and auditory implants that blur the line between simulated and actual reality. In 2079 scanners will scan environments down to the molecular level meaning perfectly rendered virtual spaces. In 2079 we will be able to have coffee on different continents and feel as if we were right across the table from each other. In 2079...

I scan the room with my eyes, ripping the information of the coffee house to memory, onto my biological hard drive. The walls are off white and have the texture of Madrid, illuminated by the rhombus shaped patches of gold light pouring in from the morning sun breaking through the windows. She is gazing out the window talking and dreaming. A silhouette outlined in divine light. I note the pale green shirt she’s wearing under a heavy black yarn sweater with wooden buttons and how the lacy patterned neck line seems to blend into her pale skin. She turns and looks at me with her sweet blue eyes bursting with yellow at the centers and says, in 2079...

There is a man behind us on the couch drinking coffee and reading a paper. I can’t see him but I know he is there. There is a stereo on a table near us in the corner, the sound system for the café. It has 24 switches on it. Two rows of 12. On our table our glass plates are stacked on top of each other. All that remains of our lunch are a few morsels of eggs fallen from her egg bagel sandwich, a few bread crumbs from my turkey sandwich, and a crinkled bag of uneaten Cheetos. In front of both of us are two bowl shaped coffee cups--black with smallish half circle handles. Her cup is half full of Chai Tea. Mine--black coffee: half empty. In 2079...

I take in the café. I breathe it in and I taste coffee and cigarettes and turkey on the back of my tongue. I find it difficult to conceive of such a distant future being wholly absorbed by a quiet coffee house on a rosy January morning in 2006. I record.


In 2079...I, an old man with many wonderful and fruitful years behind me, will trot down the hall, past the den, and the study, to the holodeck. Computer, I’ll say, run file .coffehouse__1 and leaning back under a pile of blankets on my lap, I’ll rock in my chair with a smile on my face and she'll smile back.