Chapter Two: A Unexpected Visitor

Aspartame licked his chops. He was reading a book about converting sailboats into backyard greenhouses, desperately hoping it would provide some hints toward reversing the process. No dice. It seemed he would have to get used to growing prize winning tomatos.

He jumped out his front door with a start. What a day what a shining day to be getting going. He help himself solemnly. It was time. He booted up his motorheelies.

The plan with simple: book store, garden supply store, wishing well, music store, then a quick visit back to the book store. Gotta cover your bases, the fifty yard line and all that. What a plan to do, what things to see. Little did Aspartame know that his life would be forever changed up forever with this trip of his.

He dashed about all willy-nilly, going store to store, destination to destination. But right after to music store he stopped in his tracks. There it was again. Montag café. Could he? Yes, he very could. He approached with vigor.

The door was one of those ringy doors that makes the little ringing sounds when you open it. But not one of those lame new electronic ones that just makes a beep boop or whatever, this was an honest to goodness ringing. And what a ringing it was. He pushed the door and rang the ringer. What a wonderous welcome this was turning out to be.

His footsteps tapped on the floor. Tip tap, tip tap. He approached the counter and gazed longingly at the menu. So many choices. He wasn't prepared for this. Should he just leave? No, he couldn't, not now. He knew when he opened that door and rang that bell that he had vowed an unbreakable vow to buy something at this fine establishment. He approached the counter with a start.

The main problem facing capitalist societies in the modern age is the underutilization of trash bins. Everyone has a trash bin but the bin is rarely full. If you fill your trash bin, it leaves you in a vulnerable state. If you have more trash, where will you put the trash? You could try to push down the trash and make more room, but you can only do that so many times. What happens when it is honest to goodness full and you desperately need to throw away the disposable goods capitalism has graced you with. Rather than limit our consumption (a sin in the world of modern capitalism) we get extra large trash bins and extra trash bins so we know that they will never be full. And those trash bins lie dormant and empty, causing inefficiencies in the trash market. This could really be the end of us you know, all these empty trash bins. It could ruin the economy. The solution is simple: start consuming more trashbins. After all, that's really the solution to all problems, the continuance and elevation of consumption.

I could right parables and parables about this though.

So Aspartame was sauntering up, all ready-like. And that's what he was up to. The barista had a look on their face, a bored look, like they worked a job that mostly involved standing at a counter and getting underpaid. But it was all a facade. The second Aspartame walk up they showed their true feelings: enthusiasm and customer service. And what an honest and true look it was.

Aspartame eyed the menu longingly. Should he get the soup?

"No," said the barista. "I know what you're thinking, but no. You're not ready yet."

He got a coffee instead. And what a coffee it was.

He walked over to a seat to wait for them to finish making his coffee. The seats were nice but not soft or anything like carseats are. There was a man sitting nearby. The man had black shoes tennis shoes on with two white stripes on the side. Three small sections of one stipe had rubbed off, but only two had rubbed off on the other stripe. The pattern on the sole was checkered in parts, except for the space left for the shoe's manufacturer: Adidacell. There was a small battery compartement on the side that looked like it probably fit three AA batteries. By the looks of it, the shoes were probably most compatable with official Adidacell AA batteries. His songs were plain and white. They extended up a little past the ankles, but not by much. The socks weren't quite a prestine white, so he had probably owned them for at least 3-4 weeks at this point. His jeans were blue like many jeans are, a dark, deep blue. They had twelve tiny stitches up each side holding them together. Under his jeans he was wearing checkered boxers, but no one in the café could see that because they were covered by his jeans. His belt wasn't real leather, it was fake leather made to look like real leather. His shirt was made of 100% ring-spun cotton. It was blue, specifically a pleasant shade of azure. What a calming shade it was. It had the logo of local bakery: Jonderson's Family Electronics. The logo was in a serif font, but it probably would have looked better with a sans-serif font. Serif fonts may be good for books and other written materials, but for a logo it's ofter better to try a sans-serif font. Personally I might have recommended a neo-grotesque typeface. Something like Helvetica. He had the exact hairstyle James Dean had when he first got his dog Max. The man was unaware of this. He was also wearing glasses.

Aspartame never talked to the man or even really looked at him for more than a moment. He had other things to focus on. Little did you know how much this man would change his life.

The barista called his name. It was time. He approached the counter with a start.