“It’s me! I am the goddamn rat of sunshine that this place needs. I’m going to drink my shitty blend stick mocha coffees and eat stale biscuits with wild abandon before I let a piece of shit industrial complex building suck the hot ham holiday leftover magic out of me.”

“Daryl, please. It’s the open shift. I’m too hungover for you to be doing this.”

“I’m gonna shine!!!”

“Fucking kill me,” Carl groaned as he accidentally knocked his novelty Boba Fett coffee mug off the counter.

“I’ll be a lizard in the hot sun to this dull rock. A joyous flag flapping in the wind. I’ll be-“ a croissant smacked Daryl on the nose.

“I’m begging you. From the bottom of my balls. Please. Please. Shut the fuck up.”

“WELCOME TO BIG JIM’S JAVA PALACE,” Daryl screamed at the empty lobby. Four a.m. had never been so dead. Carl and Daryl were isolated barista’s in a sea of commerce. The street outside flowed with rowdy businessman returning from expensive sushi and karaoke, unaware or uncaring for the massive markup they were saddled with.

Carl dreamed of a quick death via the steam wand somehow blowing off and instantly shooting through his eye socket and out the back like a rotten tomato.

Daryl had the veggie tales theme song playing full blast in his own mind. Some people were beyond saving.