A short girl carrying a dog in a beige canvas backpack once walked into the small coffee shop nestled comfortably between one danchi and another, at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. She had a stern expression, coming in much contrast to the soft sleeping face of the shiba inu she carried on her back. She trotted up to the counter, banged her fist against the customer bell in the most impatient of manners, and waited with crossed arms to be tended to. At least, this is how Nana-chan described it to me.

"She looked so frightening, her eyes burning like two pyres of destruction, and I felt compelled to hide beneath the counter the moment she started galloping towards me!" Nana recounts with terror, late that same evening as we went about scrubbing the sinkful of dirty dishes.

I was out taking a well-earned smoke at the time. Had I been warned ahead of time about this unexpected arrival, I would've made it the longest smoke a trashy three fifty yen packet cigarette could carry for.

A knock was sounded on the back door. "Komaeda, do you mind taking an order?" The boss's voice rang out from behind it, fatigued as usual. "It appears we are short-handed at the moment. You know I wouldn't normally pull you out of your break." Of course, that wasn't true. I never really did get a proper break in the mornings. She yawned several times as she continued in her customary checklist of disabled workers. "Subaru is yet to show his face at the shop today." Most probably passed out in some alley, fervently embracing a street lamp. "Hoshi is tending to another customer." Flirting with them, I'll bet. "And Nana... is occupied." On her fifth visit to the restroom. I sighed.

"I'll be right there," I mumbled, stomping on the remainders of the cigarette, reducing it to ash. Renewing the knot that firmly held the apron around my waist, I passed by the kitchen, greeting the chef with a mere nod of acknowledgement. I'm not sure I remember the last time I've had a conversation with that stout Chinese man. In the main room of the shop, from a safe stand by the bar, I immediately spotted Hoshi, sitting on the windowsill by a pair of young males, giggling and grinning as he enjoyed the company of those he is attracted to most. Nearby, a young woman sat with a baby in her lap, muttering to herself as she stirred the pale liquid in a cup of steaming tea without having shown a sign of consuming it. Not far from there, an elderly couple sitting in perfect silence. And in the farthest corner-

"A short macchiato, please!" The loud voice rattled my senses, and I certainly did not spot its source at first. Only when I leaned over the counter did I spot her. She was a short girl with a dog in her backpack and a disdainful expression on her face. Still, there was something unrealistic about her supposed fierceness, which made her seem a softer than she must've intended. I suppose she didn't appreciate me sizing her up, since she growled at me in response.

What a pitiful way to treat the barista who is about to prepare your drink. I turned my back on the dismal being and headed off to fulfill her unusual order. A minute later, as I prepared to stir in the milk, I heard an unpleasantly high-pitched yelp. Bewildered, I turned to her. She looked as though she was hanging off the edge of a particularly tall cliff, her eyes the size of tennis-balls, her pupils trembling.

When she spoke, her voice was hushed but icy. "On absolutely no terms may you entirely stir in the milk with the espresso shot in a macchiato." My frown quickly evolved into an expression of disgust. I had enough whackos surrounding me on my day-to-day life. I certainly didn't need any more.